


City in the Clouds

by elusivelover_archivist



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, First Time, M/M, reluctant romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusivelover_archivist/pseuds/elusivelover_archivist
Summary: By Keren GlassIn a slightly altered universe, Luke comes to Cloud City for repairs and finds it increasingly hard to resist the city's baron administrator.





	City in the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cara Loup, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Elusive Lover](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Elusive_Lover_\(Star_Wars_archive\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Elusive Lover’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ElusiveLover).

“Damn!” Luke Skywalker slammed a gloved hand down on the X-wing’s flight console. His first independent mission as a Rebel Commander, and about everything had gone wrong. For the moment, neither Artoo Deetoo’s whistled suggestions nor the undeniable fact that it really hadn’t been his fault could improve his mood.

“We need to regroup and find a place for repairs,” he said over comlink. Not that he was telling the other pilots anything new, but Alliance drills prescribed unequivocal instructions for situations like these.

Luke reflected for a moment. The damage those other two X-wing fighters had suffered was too extensive for a quick patch-up job on some outlawed stopover. “Artoo,” he said, “check our position and locate the next decent repair port.”

Seconds later, the data scrolled across the interface screen. “Bespin,” Luke read. “Tibanna gas mines, controlled by Cloud City Corporation. You absolutely sure they’re neutral?”

Artoo whistled emphatically, with just a touch of annoyance to his tone.

“All right. Forget I asked.” Luke entered the course corrections and informed his group of their new headings. Lastly, he talked to the pilot of the supply shuttle. The man had suffered a mild concussion during the skirmish, and Luke wished he could have a replacement transferred to his ship. Of course, with the co-pilot killed in the collision, no replacement was available.

Sitting back, Luke levered his seat into rest position. It would take a while until they came out of lightspeed, but under the present conditions, he couldn’t hope to use that time for a restful doze. Too much was at stake. He’d already lost two men and two valuable fighters when the mission went awry and wasn’t prepared to take any more risks. He simply had to trust Artoo that their tractor rig-up would hold together long enough — but the droid’s confidence didn’t keep him from worrying.

Not for the first time, Luke wished Lando had accompanied them on this mission. While the man’s profit-bent attitude inspired no great personal trust, Lando was a skilled pilot with one of the fastest ships this side of the Rim, not to mention the Falcon’s firepower. If he’d been around at the time they’d run into an Imperial patrol, the outcome most certainly would have been different. Yet the sober truth was that the Alliance couldn’t always afford Lando’s services. Having just sent him on a run to Corellia, General Rieekan had decided that Commander Skywalker was entirely capable of safely escorting one more supply convoy to their new base on the ice world. So much for deserving the General’s trust.

Luke pulled up his shoulders and tried to stretch his legs in the narrow cockpit. Damn. He’d poured over the nav charts forever, plotting a complex course that would take them back to Hoth safely, skirting all Imperial outposts and standard routes. All those plans and rehearsals — and then they had to chance on an assault group at one of their jump points. It could have happened to anyone, Luke told himself, but he was none the happier for it.

* * *

Two cycles later, Luke blinked his bleary eyes at a vista that seemed to have been pulled straight from some romantic holonovela. A castle suspended in the clouds... Except, of course, that the castle was a city constructed with the use of the most sophisticated antigrav technologies, as Artoo had explained to him en route. Sleek and graceful, Cloud City floated between gentle white puffs in an icy blue sky. Luke was just beginning to relish the prospect of catching a few days’ rest in that place when his comlink pinged.

“Incoming fighters—” the voice that hailed them spoke with a twang, “—identify yourselves and state your purpose.”

“We have two damaged fighters in tow and require repairs,” Luke answered immediately. Toggling a switch, he released their ID codes on a standard frequency. They were cover IDs, of course, procured by the Alliance’s intelligence branch.

There was a long silence while port control decoded the broadcast, then the nasal voice said, “Permission to land on the north-east platform in sector D-05. A cloud car escort will guide you. Do not deviate from the allotted course. Our repair facilities are at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” Luke said with a twisted smile at the mixture of courtesy, mistrust, and vague threat in port control’s bodiless voice. He shouldn’t be surprised though. As the galactic conflict became more pitched, the remaining neutral worlds had good reasons for alarm. Several had already been caught up in clashes between the Empire and the Rebel Alliance.

While the supply shuttle sailed into a large docking bay in the city’s meridian girdle, Luke set his X-wing down on a wide platform, the other fighters following suit. He breathed out a sigh of relief when the damaged vehicles had landed and the overtaxed tractor could finally be deactivated.

Mech droids had brought access ladders, and Wedge Antilles was first to climb from his X-wing’s battered cockpit. Shakily, Luke noticed, although Wedge tried his best to cover up.

“Made it in one piece, huh?” he said, deeply inhaling the clean air. A roughly applied patch of synthetic skin on the back of his hand testified to the burns he’d suffered when his naviconsole shorted several circuits.

“Don’t tell me you had any doubts.” Luke clapped the other man’s shoulder with a relieved grin. Wedge had become a friend — actually, his only real friend among the Rebel pilots — during those strenuous months since the Yavin battle. “Go check yourself in with the next available medidroid,” he added. “I’m sure there’s some sort of sickbay around here, maybe even a clinic. And take Per and Jaime with you.”

“Will do.” Wedge returned a tired smile. “See you later, boss.”

Watching them leave, Luke stretched his arms in a half-hearted attempt to work the kinks from his stiff neck and shoulders. As the team’s leader, he couldn’t just call it a day and crash on the next available bed. The trickiest part still lay ahead of him, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Luke waved to Artoo and walked towards a bank of lifts. He’d already changed back into civilian clothes — the nondescript, dark grey jumpsuit provided for just such an occasion — and there was no point in further delays. They needed those repairs, but all he could do was hope for a sympathetic heart somewhere high up in the administration of Cloud City... Because, for the time being, he had nothing but gratitude to offer. The cash they carried would hopefully cover accommodation and port tax, but the predictably high repair costs exceeded their budget. They had to depend on charity, and it wasn’t a prospect Luke relished.

He finger-combed his tousled hair as the lift swept him upwards, past elegant terraces and glittering malls. When he turned the other way, he caught a glimpse of the sprawling vastness of the city, countless domed buildings and crystal towers rising in white splendor towards the radiant sky. A resort created for the rich, excluding the mere notion of lack. But all too clearly Luke rememberd Uncle Owen’s adage about the effect of wealth on people’s generosity. _The more they own, the less they’re willing to give_. He just hoped that Owen Lars would be proved wrong this one time.

ADMINISTRATION, announced the lift’s display, and Luke touched the controls to get off. From the center of the hallway, an info terminal beamed at him. Luke studied the names and locations for a few minutes, trying to make up his mind whom he should approach.

 _Gamble high_ , he told himself and placed his index finger on the illuminated blue field that read BARON ADMINISTRATOR.

The terminal chimed, and an electronic voice said, “The Baron Administrator’s office is located on Level Three, suite A 101. Do you wish to make an appointment?”

“Yes, please,” Luke said, clearing his throat. “I’d like to see him as soon as possible. On urgent business.”

The terminal hummed, and he began to feel foolish immediately. If the Baron denied his request, he’d busted all their chances for repairs at zero charge. Perhaps he should have started somewhere lower in the ranks... Luke was about to cancel his request when a silver protocol droid approached from the far side of the hallway. A 2PO model, he realized, the precursor of Threepio. His presence seemed like a good omen.

“If you will follow me please,” the droid said courteously. “The Baron Administrator will see you now.”

“Thanks,” Luke said, mildly surprised. He’d expected the Corporation’s director to be far too busy to see him at once. Now he had preciously little time left to make up a convincing story that could soften the heart of a tough businessman. If the Baron was human at all.

It turned out that he was indeed, but the sight of him startled Luke even more. The sweeping elegance of the city had led him to expect some sort of overdressed bureaucrat with polished manners, but the very first glimpse of Cloud City’s most powerful man made short work of that notion.

Sprawling in his chair, the man had propped his knee-high boots on the desk before him. His attire looked comfortable and practical rather than ornate, consisting of well-fitting pants, a blaster belt and open-necked white shirt. A short, multi-pocketed jacket had been flung over the chair’s back. Corellian bloodstripes decorated his pants, but while Luke still tried to recall what exactly they signified, his attention was caught by the man’s face.

He was handsome in a rugged way, the strong jaw suggesting a stubborn mind, contradicted by the generous mouth. With his shaggy brown hair and tanned skin, he looked like an outlawed spacer on vacation sooner than the director of a prosperous corporation.

For a moment, the man held his curious gaze with bright hazel eyes, then he swept his boots off the desk and gestured towards a chair. “Sit down. What can I do for you?”

“Baron—” Luke started, but a low chuckle stopped him.

“Cut that,” the other man said flippantly. “It’s what the droids gimme all the time, and I can’t cope with it. Han Solo. Call me either of the two. And what’s your name?”

“Luke Skywalker,” Luke answered promptly — and almost bit his tongue for letting his real name slip. Intelligence had provided him with a false ID, but there was no way he could undo his mistake now.

“Tatooine?” Solo guessed accurately. “Not that I’ve ever spent much time there, but they’ve got those weird names all over the place. Kinda sticks to the mind.”

“I no longer live there,” Luke returned noncommittally. “And you’re Corellian?”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me it’s the accent.”

“The bloodstripes,” Luke said, gesturing.

“Oh — yeah...” With a shrug, Solo rose and circled the desk, leaning against it to study his visitor across the shorter distance. Tall and lean, he radiated total confidence, though he couldn’t be that much older than himself, Luke judged. Ten standard years at the most, probably less.

“So,” the Corellian prompted, “what can I do for you?”

“We came in for repairs only a short while ago,” Luke said, oddly unnerved by the man’s close attention. The way Solo had positioned himself made it difficult to concentrate on fabricating a plausible tale, and if the calculating look in those hazel eyes was any indication, Solo would see through it anyway. “Four X-wing fighters and a longrange shuttle,” Luke continued. “Two of our fighters are in urgent need of repairs.”

Solo shrugged again. “If you’re worried that we might not have all the spare parts, you’d better talk to someone at maintenance.”

Luke shook his head. “We... have a little problem. This is an emergency, and we didn’t expect to get into this kind of trouble.” He cleared his throat and squarely met Solo’s gaze. “We can’t pay. At least not right away.”

Incredulity swept across the man’s face and produced a startled grin that faded again fast. “What d’you mean, you can’t pay?”

“Well, our sponsors will refund you,” Luke answered a little hastily, “but it might take some time to contact them and have the credits transferred.”

Solo studied him shrewdly. “All right. Then we’ll just wait ‘til they do.”

“We can’t.”

“What do you think this is, kid, Wonderland? The Sisters of Mercy’s last outpost?” the other man asked derisively and folded his arms. “I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything. What exactly is this emergency? What’s that shuttle carry?”

“We’re not smugglers, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Too bad. I happen to have a soft spot for smugglers.” Solo grinned crookedly, but there was little mirth in it. “Let’s get this straight, you want those repairs done for free, and you’re not gonna give me a damn good reason why?”

“We’ve lost two pilots and their ships on our way, and three of my group are injured,” Luke retorted, infuriated by his own clumsiness at handling this. “Unless we get those damaged fighters repaired, there’s no way we can reach our home port. It’s an emergency, and if that isn’t a good reason, I don’t know what is. All I can offer right now is that I’ll contact our sponsors, and I promise you’ll be paid as soon as it can be arranged, but we don’t have time to stay any longer than necessary. We’re already delayed as it is.”

“The shuttle’s cargo,” Solo prompted, brow furrowed.

“Medical supplies. You can check if you want.”

“You can bet your ass that I will.”

The man’s unbearable arrogance fueled Luke’s irritation, but he swallowed it back down. “Those supplies are badly needed at our destination,” he said intensely. “That’s why I can’t offer our cargo as payment.”

Solo cocked his head and chewed on his lower lip. “All right,” he said at length. “Tell you what. I’ll take a look at those fighters of yours and the cargo later. Got some other business to take care of first, but I can make it this afternoon. Then we’ll talk.”

“Thanks,” Luke said, relieved and grateful to escape Solo’s scrutiny.

“Skywalker!” the man called him back from the door.

When Luke turned, a wolfish grin curved Solo’s mouth. “There’s a lot you ain’t telling me, kid, and I don’t like that much,” he said. “Trust me, I’ll get to the bottom of it. Unless you make up your mind to come straight out with it.” He waved dismissively. “See ya later.”

Furious all over again, Luke stormed from the office and almost ran into a huge, furry creature. Massive hands caught his shoulders, and the creature rumbled, making noises that vaguely resembled a chuckle. Tilting his head, Luke found himself face to face with a tall Wookiee whose feral appearance was belied by gentle blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t watching.”

The Wookiee released his shoulders with a gesture that came startlingly close to a shrug. Luke wondered if he was stopping over on Bespin as well, although Wookiees no longer engaged much in space travel, since most of their race had been enslaved by the Empire. Or perhaps this one was a free trader come to do business with the Baron Administrator?

“Hey, Chewie, about time you showed up!” called the Corellian’s voice from the office.

Surprised, Luke shook his head. That Solo had a Wookiee assistant seemed odd indeed, but the man didn’t quite fit his role anyway. As Luke stepped out into the corridor, he hoped that unexplained fact would somehow work to their advantage.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Solo finally joined him outside maintenance. While Luke had caught a few winks in a recliner on one of the countless viewing terraces, he still felt tired and edgy. He’d rented quarters in the vicinity for himself and his group, although those comfortless sleeping cubicles hardly deserved the name. But at least Wedge, Per and Jaime had received due medical care before they’d retired to a well-earned rest.

“Hi,” Solo said in the dismissive tones he seemed to prefer and proceeded to stalk past their parked X-wings. “Let’s see what we got...”

Luke followed sullenly, wondering what in all the heavens it would take to bring out the kind heart in the roguish Administrator.

With startling grace and speed, Solo piled up one of the access ladders and peered into the cockpit. “Interesting specs you have here,” he remarked. “Looks like you guys get caught up in a lot of action, huh?”

“We like to be prepared for all contingencies,” Luke answered evasively.

“Like what? Imperial patrols on the rampage?” Lightly jumping back down to the landing platform, Solo ran his fingers across the carbon scoring that marred the X-wing’s hull.

“You seem to know a lot about it,” Luke tried to circumvent the question.

The Corellian rewarded him with a lopsided grin. “Hey — what d’you take me for?”

 _I don’t know_ , Luke thought, _and that’s the whole trouble_. Although what kind of trouble precisely he was in with this man remained unclear for the moment.

Apparently, Solo hadn’t really expected a reply and continued his inspection of the damaged fighter with rapt attention. He whistled softly at the sight of a blast-warped cover plate over the servo actuator. “You wanna get that whole component replaced,” he said, turning back to Luke. “Including all the wiring. If they don’t work properly, it’s gonna go _fizz-boom-bang!_ the next time you land this crate.”

“The S-Foils have an independent motivator,” Luke retorted, frowning. “I don’t see how—”

“Yeah, but the motivator’s _circuit_ runs parallel to your sublight’s power supply.” Solo lifted an eloquent eyebrow at him. “Trust me, you don’t want a short circuit that close to the private parts of your kettle.”

“Uh, right,” Luke said weakly. He’d suspected the Corellian of being a retired smuggler, but perhaps retired mechanic was closer to the truth. Or a combination of both.

As they studied each X-wing separately, Solo pointed out diverse features in their design with growing enthusiasm, and Luke soon found himself engaging in lively debate about the benefits of fusial thrust engines with the man.

“They’re pretty sturdy, although they don’t look it,” the Corellian said eventually, patting the fighter’s flank with something close to affection. “Great maneuverability.”

“Sounds like you’ve flown one yourself,” Luke hedged.

“Several times,” Solo confirmed. “Myself, I’m using a modified freighter — an old Corellian model, but you wouldn’t recognize her now, with all the work Chewie ‘n I have done on her. There’s better, but she makes point three past lightspeed by now.”

“A freighter?”

“Sure.” Solo grinned. “I can show her to you if you’re interested. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luke heard himself reply before he could think about it.

They crossed the docking bay together where Luke unsealed the shuttle’s cargo hold and waved at the stacked crates inside. “I have a list of all the items she carries,” he offered, “if you’d like to compare—”

“Nah, why bother?” Solo waved it aside. “I spend most of my working hours checking and counterchecking records, and I’ve had enough of it for one day.”

“But you said—”

“I believe you, okay?”

Luke thought he could detect a faint note of mockery in the man’s tone and wondered what to make of his nonchalant behavior. Was Solo implying that they’d get their vehicles overhauled for free? Before he could ask, the Corellian thumbed the hatch’s controls, and it slid shut again.

“It’s gettin’ late,” he said. “Time for dinner. How about you? Bet you’ve lived off concentrates for the last week, from the look of you.”

Prompted by the mention of food, Luke’s stomach gave a woeful twinge, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten at all since their arrival on Bespin. “I wouldn’t mind a bite,” he said hesitantly.

“Thought so.” Solo gestured towards the nearest lift. “We’ve got some excellent eateries around here. Join me?”

Luke caught back instant and somewhat overeager acceptance at the last moment. “What about those repairs?” he forced himself to ask instead.

“Oh, that.” Solo worked his features into a mock-scowl, but amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Well, why not? But don’t tell anyone, got that? If word gets around, it’s gonna ruin my reputation.”

“Thanks,” Luke said in a rush of gratitude and relief.

Solo winked at him. “Save that for later. First we gotta grab a bite somewhere.”

* * *

The food was indeed excellent and far better than the fare Luke had sampled even on the best equipped Rebel bases. The meat was very white and tender with a salty aftertaste.

“It’s fish,” Solo explained and chuckled at Luke’s nonplussed expression. “Sorry, forgot that you’re from Tatooine. Fish live in the water, and instead of arms ‘n legs, they’ve got fins and tails. That’s Corellian polefish you’re eating. Like it?”

“Very much. It’s just that I’ve spent so much time in space since leaving Tatooine,” Luke tried to explain his embarrassing ignorance. “I must have been to places where you could find fish, but there was never enough time.” It occurred to him then that he was giving away far too many details about his current lifestyle, and he added, a little awkwardly, “Flying really gets to me, so I didn’t really mind being constantly on the move. There’s nothing like it.”

“I know what you mean.”

A thoughtful expression had come over the Corellian’s features and erased all the cocky confidence with it. Lost to his own musings for a few moments, Solo gazed into the distance, and Luke found it suddenly difficult to take his eyes off the clear-cut face. He’d misjudged the man, he thought, falling for the jaded facade, whereas now he could almost sense a distant sadness in the Corellian.

“Well,” Solo said abruptly, reaching for his glass, “with that X-wing of yours, you got a good reason for stayin’ afloat, too. Those birds’ve pretty much revolutionized the whole fighter market. Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to try some of the maneuvers we used to do with the old Z-95s.”

And from there, they went straight into another vivid exchange about flight technology and combat maneuvers. Solo ordered another bottle of wine without interrupting his fond reminiscing about the now obsolete Z-95 starfighter.

When the waitress arrived, he rewarded her with a bright and charming grin, and Luke thought that women probably found Solo very attractive. And maybe some men would feel the same way, he added for himself, not pausing to wonder why that notion made him faintly uneasy. Controlled power and vibrant vitality surrounded Han Solo. Luke found himself reminded of his boyhood heroes, the protagonists of all those mass-produced holotapes he’d watched whenever Aunt Beru turned her back. He smiled self-consciously at the memory.

“What’s so funny?” Solo wanted to know.

Lightheaded with the recent lack of sleep and the wine, Luke grinned apologetically. “That’d take much too long to explain. Just thinking about times on Tatooine.”

“So tell me,” Solo said abruptly, “how does a kid from Tatooine wind up with the Rebellion?”

Thrown off stride, Luke sat bolt upright in his chair. Incipient alarm filtered through the hazy contentment he felt in Solo’s company. “What makes you think I’m with the Rebellion?” he asked, and feigning surprise didn’t come hard at all.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Solo returned in a lowered voice, his tone reassuring and surprisingly earnest. “Do I look like an Imperial spy to you or what?”

“Spies are supposed to look perfectly harmless,” Luke said and almost winced at that uninspired retort.

The Corellian gave another throaty chuckle. “Thanks for the compliment. I think.” He leaned back and drained his glass. “Don’t look so upset, you’re doing fine. If it hadn’t been for your shortage of cash, I’d never’ve thought about it. All the little signs say either smuggler or rebel, and you’ve got a much too honest face for contraband.”

“Could be a perfect cover,” Luke said testily. Solo’s last remark had nettled his pride.

“Could be,” the other man agreed, studying him with a hooded gaze, “but isn’t. C’mon, let’s hear your story. It won’t go beyond this room, and let me tell you, no one around here’s got any affection for the Empire.”

Luke considered briefly and decided to trust his gut instincts about this man. “My family got killed in an Imperial raid,” he said, abbreviating the full story to a minimum. “I met someone who’d fought in the Clone Wars, and we eventually made it to the Rebel forces on Yavin Four.” Since that base had long been evacuated, he wasn’t revealing any sensitive information. “That’s how it started.”

“Don’t tell me you were in that battle.” Solo whistled softly through his teeth. “No kidding, huh?”

Oddly pleased with the Corellian’s reaction, Luke relaxed again gradually. “I’d only just joined up,” he said. “I was lucky to come away alive. Since then, we’ve been tramping from one base to the next. That’s how I missed out on the fish.”

“Until now.” Solo refilled his glass, raising it for a mock-salute while he stretched his long legs under the table. Against his calf, Luke felt the motion and the smooth leather of Solo’s boots. After another moment, he sat back cautiously, although the Corellian probably hadn’t even noticed the brief contact.

“I’m not gonna ask where you’re headed from here,” Solo continued. “If you want, we can forget about this whole conversation.”

His last comment made Luke realize that he’d showed some discomfort, and Solo had obviously misread him. “That’s okay,” he said. “I guess we all tend to get a bit too paranoid after a time.”

“Tell me all about it.”

They finished the wine in pleasant silence, and when Luke finally pushed from his seat, he felt the intoxicating effects rush to his head. “Time I went for bed,” he said. “Thanks for the dinner... and everything else.”

“No problem.”

Out on the terrace, the air was agreeably clean and cold. “Where’re you staying?” Solo asked. “Not those human-sized boxes belowdecks?”

Luke gave an unconcerned shrug. “They’re okay. All I need right now is someplace to crash.”

When he turned around to face the Corellian, he encountered hazel eyes that searched him with unsettling intensity.

“What?” Luke asked after an endlessly stretching moment and realized that his voice had turned quite dry. A hand settled on his shoulder, and the touch shot through him as if he’d been wired to some unstable circuit.

“You could crash at my place,” Solo suggested, a slow grin lifting the corners of his mouth. “And maybe later, we can find out just how grateful you are.”

Heat washed into Luke’s face. Before he could control his reaction, he’d stepped away from Solo, shaking his hand off. “If that’s how it is, I’d prefer working for the repair charge!” he snapped.

Well, at least he’d managed to startle the arrogant Corellian. Luke could virtually see the man’s face tighten and for a moment, the smug grin seemed to freeze.

“Hey, don’t get excited!” Solo drawled with an airy gesture. “Nobody said anything about those charges, okay? Now, if you head down that walkway, you’ll hit the lifts that’ll take you straight to maintenance.” Hooking both thumbs to his gunbelt, he turned. “Don’t lose your way in the dark, kid. Good night.”

“G’night,” Luke answered just as tersely and started to walk on autopilot.

Had he really heard that huffy note in Solo’s tone, or was it something he’d imagined? It probably didn’t happen to him very often, Luke thought with grim satisfaction, to be turned down like that. But by the time he’d reached the lift, he wondered uneasily if he’d given the man any cause to assume that his offer would be appreciated. Slightly dizzy, Luke sagged against the cabin’s wall. More than anything, he needed to sleep straight through the next ten hours, and perhaps that would wipe this strange interlude from memory.

* * *

_No such luck_ , Luke thought irritably. The first thing that flickered through his sleep-addled mind the following morning was the dinner with Solo... and the aftermath. Something about the way his stomach tightened at the memory made Luke suspect that the incident had stolen into his dreams too. Well, he wasn’t going to drag the discomfort around with himself all day, so he’d better resolve what the problem was, then dismiss it.

He felt incredibly foolish about it, Luke decided under the shower. Solo had made a pass at him — on the spur of the moment, most likely — and he’d bolted like a frightened teenager. Perhaps he should have been flattered.

Maybe the problem was that he’d started to genuinely like the man, Luke thought, toweling himself off with more vigor than necessary. But that left him with the question why Solo’s attentions should render the man less likeable. Luke plunked down on the bed to pull on his boots and decided that it had to do with the way Solo thought of him in turn. Like being invited into the man’s bed automatically made him look cheap? That didn’t seem to make much sense either.

Perhaps he just wanted to be more special than that. Luke froze in the middle of pulling up the jumpsuit’s zippers. _Special?_ Just what was he getting himself into here? So much for analyzing and dismissing the problem.

His mood not much improved, Luke left the sleeping cubicle and walked towards maintenance where Wedge was already watching the mech droids flurry about the damaged X-wings.

“Hey!” Wedge greeted him with a grin. “I thought you were gonna stay in bed all day.”

“Is it that late?”

“Only by Alliance base standards, but I guess they don’t apply here. And last night, you looked like you could use three or four sleep cycles in a row.”

“I’m fine,” Luke said mechanically. “How about you?”

“As good as new.” Wedge gave him a sidelong glance. “Is it true — I mean, they’re not gonna charge us anything for the repairs?”

It had to come up, of course. Luke nodded reluctantly.

“I’m impressed. What did you do?”

“I talked to the guy at the top.”

“He must really like you,” Wedge observed innocently, but it drove sudden heat into Luke’s face, and he turned away quickly.

“Maybe he was overdue for his good deed of the week or something,” Luke muttered, pretending to study the gutted insides of the nearest fighter.

“Well, I’m not gonna complain,” Wedge said easily. “Matter of fact, I’m off for a stroll around the place. The staff seem to know their job, and I didn’t get to see much of the city last night.”

“I’ll hang out here for a while,” Luke answered the implicit invitation to join his friend. “Need to get my stuff from the cockpit, too. I’ll catch you later.”

It had only occurred to him now: there was a small bag full of personal effects stacked behind the flightseat that he’d completely forgotten to retrieve last night. He climbed the access ladder and grabbed it with renewed irritation. The few material possessions he really cared about were in that bag — his lightsaber, the heavy medal he’d been given after the Yavin battle, and his old utility belt from Tatooine.

Luke sat down on a stone bench beside the landing platform and couldn’t resist the impulse to check the bag’s contents. All that remained of his past, his family, and Ben Kenobi.

The memory stirred a brief twinge of pain. No longer so intense and fraught with despair, but he still missed the old man. He’d never forget how Ben had handed him the lightsaber, nor the way he’d dueled with Darth Vader. To think that Ben had managed to survive that battle, only to be shot down over the Death Star during their attack run...

Kenobi’s decision to pilot a fighter himself had raised many an eyebrow among the Rebels, but nobody dared to object openly. Admittedly, Ben had never piloted an X-wing and his flying experience dated back years, if not decades, but the Force would guide him, he’d said. Just like the other pilots in Luke’s squadron, he’d woven through the firelines, had covered for him in the Death Star trench when it came to that. And he’d died there just like Luke’s childhood friend Biggs.

When he blinked the memory aside, Luke became aware that his fingers had closed around the medal. It had been a very poignant moment when he’d walked down the aisle, towards the Princess, his sentiments seesawing between dizzy elation and overwhelming grief. But more than anything, he’d been aware of the isolation when he crossed the distance all by himself. Biggs should have been there, and Ben. Lando had played quite a role in the battle too, but since he’d been paid for his participation, the Rebel Commanders obviously didn’t think he deserved a decoration.

Luke turned his thoughts towards the best part of it, the moment when the Princess had draped the medal around his neck and smiled at him. Maybe he’d had a crush on her, like the teasing comments from the pilots in his squad so often suggested. His knees had felt a little weak then, but he wasn’t exactly sure if it was the crowd, the vastness of the Massassi temple, the recent dangers hitting home, or the dazzling smile the Princess gave him. He always felt a little clumsy and helpless in her company, if that was any indication.

Luke didn’t become aware of the steps drawing closer until polished black boots entered his field of vision and paused there. He sucked in a quick breath before looking up.

“Hi,” Solo said casually. “You’re up earlier than I thought.”

“I’m used to it.” Closing the bag, Luke rose and remembered uncomfortably how much he’d told this man last night.

“Bad habit.” The Corellian jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Still interested in takin’ a look at my ship?”

Truth to tell, Luke wasn’t exactly sure. What if accepting the invitation encouraged Solo? Maybe he’d better make some excuse and avoid further entanglements. Then again, perhaps the offer was intended as a gesture of reconciliation.

“Yeah, all right,” Luke said firmly. “If you have the time.”

“The computer in my office flunked this morning, and good. Ain’t gonna be fixed before tomorrow.” Solo was already heading off, and all Luke could do was tag along and question the wisdom of his decision.

Solo’s ship was parked on a circular landing platform and stood out oddly against the smooth elegance of the city. However, Corellian crafts had won their galaxy-wide renown not through exterior design but less visible qualities, and Luke had gotten used to their appearance since he’d first boarded Lando Calrissian’s larger, but equally decrepit-looking freighter. This time, he knew better than to show any reaction.

“She’s called the Stingray,” Solo informed him, “kind of a corny name, but, well — I didn’t feel like changing it.”

The pride of ownership virtually gleamed in his eyes, and Luke found it strangely touching. “It’s what she can do, not the way she looks,” he offered.

“You sure got that right.” Solo led the way up the short ramp to the cargo hatch at the stern, letting them in.

After a brief tour around the holds and crew quarters, they stepped into the cockpit. One glance across the flight console showed Luke that very little of the original instruments remained. All the controls had been rearranged, displays added, the weapons array enlarged beyond the requirements of peaceful cargo hauling. Luke’s glance fell on the co-pilot’s chair, decidedly too big for humans.

“You and the Wookiee fly together?” he hazarded a guess.

“We used to, yeah. Don’t get much of a chance anymore these days.” Once again, a wistful tone had crept into Solo’s voice. “Chewie keeps moaning about it, keeps tinkering with her systems too, but there’s only so much speed you can coax from a bucket like this.”

“Why not buy another?” Luke suggested, thinking that tibanna gas mining should turn out enough profit for Solo to acquire a private little fleet.

“Aw, c’mon,” the Corellian said, a hint of resignation in his tone, “you should know about all those Imperial restrictions and stuff. They don’t like privateers owning ships faster than their own.”

That was true, but Luke had learned of other ways to acquire restricted technology, and he was almost certain Solo knew them as well as he, if not better.

“And why go through all that trouble?” Solo continued, pacing back to the cockpit’s entrance. “We’ve gotten ourselves a cozy little retreat here, no reason to jeopardize it.”

He had a point but sounded rather defensive about it at the same time, as if he had to try and convince himself.

“So, what d’you think of her?” Solo asked.

“For all I can see, she’s tuned up to do more than her best,” Luke returned, meaning it. “Actually, this ship reminds me a lot of the Falcon. That’s Lando’s—”

“The Millennium Falcon?” Solo interrupted at once, his face taking on an expression of keen curiosity. “Are we talking about Lando Calrissian here?”

“You know him?” Luke asked, surprised.

“I sure do, kid,” the Corellian growled. “That ship should’ve been mine by rights... if Lando hadn’t cheated in that game.”

How anyone — especially someone in Han Solo’s position — could feel so strongly about an old Corellian freighter was beyond Luke’s understanding for the moment. “Lando mentioned that he won her in a sabacc game,” he said, “but he never gave any details about it. And from the way he keeps cursing the Falcon, he’s not too happy with his prize either. She’s constantly under repairs.”

“Because Lando doesn’t know the first thing about it,” Solo retorted sharply. “So how come you know him? Don’t tell me Lando’s had a change of heart and turned into a shiny-eyed rebel!”

“Ben hired him to get us off Tatooine,” Luke said. “And we... well, we got sidetracked, but there was a large reward in it for Lando. He’s good and very reliable as a courier, and I think he’s using the credits to pay off some old debts.”

“Gambling debts, most likely.” With folded arms, the Corellian leaned against the bulkhead. “Guess it doesn’t make much sense,” he added after a pause, “but looking back on it now, it’s like that sabacc game was some sort of turning point, and I keep wondering what if—” He broke off with a lopsided grin that lacked all humor. “Now why’m I tellin’ you all this, huh? No point in moaning about the past.”

When he walked back towards the hatch, the usual swagger had returned, but Luke couldn’t help thinking that he’d just caught a glimpse of passionate feelings and discarded dreams that were worlds away from the cool disillusionment Solo usually projected. And he found that he liked the man that much better for it.

Outside, the sun had broken through the clouds, burning them away into trailing wisps.

“Wonderful day, huh?” Solo turned back to him. “Just the right kind of weather for a little ride. Think I’ll just hop into my ‘car and get out of here.”

“If you can use a co-pilot,” Luke started on impulse.

“No.” Solo’s grin warmed, losing the touch of repressed irritation. “But you’re welcome to join me anyway. We’ve got some spectacular sights around here.”

* * *

Half an hour later, they were cruising the cloudscape over Bespin, diving through dense fogs, skimming formations of floating ice crystals that crusted the cloud car’s hull. Sunlight glittered on the white wisps and refracted in tiny rainbows. For a long time, Luke forgot everything except the spectacle of light and fragile beauty outside. Until, from the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow passing them.

“What was that?”

“Hmm?” Solo looked up from the vehicle’s controls. “Big creature on wings? Probably a mandra. Let’s see if we can find another...”

He swung the cloud car into a wide, spiraling dive. Fascinated, Luke watched his fingers communicate with the controls. The craft responded to Solo’s lightest touch, and he seemed completely in tune with it. Whatever the Corellian had been before settling down, he was a pilot at heart, Luke thought. Quiet and concentrated, he almost seemed like a different person.

“There!” Solo said softly, pointing while he throttled the vehicle’s speed.

From a nebulous cloud bank on their left emerged a flock of the giant creatures, slowly moving on large, skin-covered wings. Luke judged their size equal to that of a medium freighter.

“They live mostly in the lower atmosphere,” Solo explained. “Impressive, right?”

“Very.”

“I’ve heard lots of stories about earlier settlers taming mandras to ride them through the clouds,” the Corellian continued, “but I don’t know about that. They’re pretty shy—”

He was interrupted by a deep, booming sound reverberating through the canopy. Luke noticed that one of the mandras had raised its massive head, and although the musical sound now rang all around them, it clearly came from the creature. The whole group turned and dived at the same majestic pace.

“See what I mean?” Solo shrugged. “I doubt that they’d enjoy serving as transports between cities.”

“Probably not,” Luke agreed. “Wait — does that mean there are other settlements in the atmosphere?”

“Not now. There used to be, but now all that’s left are our automatic refineries.” Solo checked the display and added, “We’re pretty close to one of the old cities. Wanna take a look?”

“Sure. What happened to them?”

Another shrug. “They were abandoned long before I ever got here,” Solo said. “Now they’re ruins just floating downward until they burn to slag.”

A few minutes later, Luke could see what he meant. The deserted installation hung below in the sky at a slightly tilted angle. Brown and black with corrosion, it looked like the carcass of a giant starship.

“Can we land there?” he asked.

“Yeah, why not.” Solo cast him a quick glance. “But, it’s freakin’ cold out there. A short tour, okay?”

When they climbed from the cloud car, a vast field of rust-stained iron extended all around them. In the distance, metal structures poked up like broken teeth. The sky was an icy blue, and Luke shivered involuntarily.

Beside him, Solo stamped his feet, critically testing the weather-worn surface. “Careful,” he said, “I’m not sure how much longer this whole place’ll hold together.”

Awed by the ghost town’s dimensions, Luke nodded absently and started towards the steel pinnacles.

They were part of an industrial complex, he saw, drawing closer. Slender vanes creaked softly in the gusts of cold wind, and a corroded lift cage had become some avian’s nesting place. Luke noticed too late that the nest was occupied.

When he leaned closer, the creature burst forth with anxiously flapping wings, and Luke jumped in reflex.

He was already falling by the time all the different warnings added up. Rusted iron crumbling under his boots, crunching sounds, the sensation of slipping. Flailing his arms, Luke slid through the jagged aperture. His fingers caught on a metal edge, but couldn’t hold his weight. He slipped.

Impact came after a terrible moment of adrenaline surging through him and cold air slamming into him. He landed more softly than he would have expected, but the fall still shook his entire body, and he blacked out.

When awareness returned, the first thing he felt was the strange, wobbly surface on which he lay, his back aching, giddiness pounding through his head. Searching around with his fingers, Luke felt a flaky synthetic material that seemed to swallow him bit by bit. It looked as if he’d landed on some decomposing plastic structure. With that thought, his consciousness begged off again.

The next time Luke opened his eyes, black sparks danced madly in his vision. He took a while to identify the outline of a head and shoulders against the overbright patch of sky.

“Luke!” Solo called. “Hey, Luke! Say something, damnit!”

“I’m okay!” he tried to call back, but the sound of his own voice created painful echoes inside his head. Blackness threatened again.

Through it, he caught the blurry sound of Solo’s voice, shouting a warning to stay right where he was. Not that he had any other options. Everything began spinning around him, and Luke closed his eyes.

He’d probably passed out again, because the next time he noticed something, several minutes had to have passed. An engine howled. Solo was in the process of climbing down towards him, with the aid of a thin rope attached to his utility belt.

Head swimming, Luke forced himself to sit up. Instant pain lanced through his spine and flared out into his skull.

Solo glanced back over his shoulder. “How’re you holdin’ up?”

“Nothing broken,” he answered without much of a voice, the dizziness so intense it almost took his breath.

The Corellian muttered something that sounded like a string of filthy curses while lowering himself cautiously. “You’ve been goddamn lucky,” he snapped, when he’d reached the uneven surface and began balancing across. “Now let’s get you out of here.”

Luke gasped as strong arms hauled him to his feet. His sight blurred, up and down switched positions, and he felt himself sag against the tall Corellian.

“Steady, kid,” the man growled. “We’ll take it step by step, okay?”

Luke squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to regain control. “I don’t think I can... manage to climb up by myself,” he admitted.

“You just hang on to me, and I’ll do the climbing,” Solo’s voice penetrated the swirling fogs in his head.

It seemed to take forever. Struggling with the numbness that tried to conquer his mind, all Luke could do was keep his arms locked tight around Solo’s shoulders. He felt the other man’s muscles strain under the shirt, breath coming more labored with each movement. There was a moment when Solo lost his footing and they both dangled from the rope like dead weight. Luke was about to let go, but they swung forward again, and the climb continued.

A shockwave of pain brought him back to full consciousness when he was pushed and dragged over the edge of the torn metal plate.

Solo was on his hands and knees next to him. “Don’t believe this,” he panted. “You okay?”

“Thanks...” Luke sat up slowly and noticed that Solo’s hands were bloody from the rope cutting into his palms. “Sorry,” he mumbled with a vague gesture.

Grimacing, the Corellian wiped his palms against his pants before helping Luke up and steering him towards the cloud car, now parked at a short distance. While his knees still felt like jelly, Luke managed to hold himself upright for the time it took. The dizziness receded, but pain concentrated in his head and upper back with ferocious intensity. He fell into alternating flares of purple and black as soon as he’d slumped into the passenger seat.

* * *

Later on, Luke recalled only fragments of the ride back to Cloud City. Sunlight stabbing mercilessly through the canopy. The jarring sounds of whining engines and the sickening lurch as speed was curbed. Someone easing him onto a stretcher, droid voices. Then nothing.

Waking up came with a sweep of total disorientation but surprisingly little discomfort. He was in a soft bed, stretched out on his belly, and for a moment wondered if he’d dreamed the entire episode. Until the throbbing in his temples offered testimony. His back itched, but when he moved his shoulders experimentally, only a faint twinge of pain followed.

“Hey, easy,” a gentle baritone warned him.

Solo, Luke reminded himself. A total stranger who’d taken an enormous risk by getting him out of that calamity.

“How d’you feel, huh?”

“Much better,” he answered, his voice almost steady.

“Good. Let me take those dressings off first. It’s time anyway.”

Luke closed his eyes obediently and traced the passage of careful fingers across his back, peeling off cling-strips.

“Got yourself some spectacular bruises,” Solo remarked in a lighter tone, “but it could be worse. Hey, those bacta paks’ve worked a minor miracle here. Guess they’re worth the credits.”

When those hands moved towards the small of his back, Luke realized distantly that he was naked under the thin sheet that covered him. For the time being, he didn’t care. Solo’s touch was deft and efficient, his fingers pleasantly cool. He ended the procedure with a gentle pat of Luke’s shoulder.

“Done,” he said. “You can turn over if you want. Slowly. You’ve got a first class concussion.”

Rolling over, Luke drew a deep breath. Although the lights in the room had been dimmed, he could tell at once that he’d been taken to someone’s private quarters, not a treatment cubicle. Solo sat beside him on the edge of a luxuriously broad bed. Cushions were scattered all over its expanse, and a woven quilt with bright blue patterns had been flung carelessly across a chair.

“You’re at my place,” Solo clarified the situation for him, but didn’t offer an explanation.

Luke nodded, accepting without further questions. Maybe it was the concussion that kept him from feeling awkward or confused. “What time is it?” he asked instead.

“Gettin’ late. But don’t worry, I’ve talked to your buddies, let ‘em know what happened.”

“Yeah, maybe I should...” Luke pushed up on his elbows.

“Whoa, steady!” Solo chuckled and grabbed his shoulders. “You’re not goin’ anywhere in the next twelve hourse, except the bathroom, if you have to. Doctor’s orders.”

Refusing to let himself be shoved down on the bed again, Luke sat up cautiously. The room swayed a little, but straightened out after a few moments. “It’s okay,” he countered Solo’s warning glare. “I just—”

“Nonsense.” Solo reached for a pillow and pushed it firmly behind his back. “You’re staying, like it or not. I’ve worried enough about you for one day.”

Sudden heat rushed into Luke’s face. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I should be saying thanks instead of acting like a jerk.”

“You might.” Amusement twitched on Solo’s generous mouth, but his eyes betrayed different sentiments. Genuine relief, Luke thought.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I should’ve watched myself instead of putting us both in danger.”

“Not your fault, kid, could’ve happened to anyone. And it was me who took you there. I’ll just make sure nobody goes traipsing round that place anymore.” Solo tilted his head. “You know, when I heard that crash, I thought you’d broken every bone in your body.” His eyes darkened, and the hand which had rested on the sheet lifted to brush tousled hair out of Luke’s face.

Before he could pull back, Luke reached for the Corellian’s hand and turned it upward. Almost invisible by now, a patch of cloned skin tissue had been smoothed over the rope-cuts, but Luke could feel the slight roughness, and the recollection of blood trickling from Han’s fist remained clear in his mind. Almost before he knew, his fingers moved across the healing injury in something very close to a caress. Startled, he looked up at Solo.

“It’s all right,” the Corellian said in a lowered voice, but Luke wasn’t at all sure what that remark referred to.

“Han...” he shook his head, bewildered. “Thank you.”

There was no telling who of them had moved first, or what kind of gesture had originally been intended. What it turned into was a cautious embrace. Luke felt Solo’s arm go around his back and let go of his hand to reach for the other man’s shoulders. The strangest tremor started in his gut, either in aftershock or anticipation, he didn’t have time to think about it anyway. Drawn by a startling sense of security and something even less clear, he moved closer into the other man’s arms. Warmth suffused him head to toe and spilled into his cheeks where Han’s breath grazed his skin. A gentle hand cupped his chin, forcing him to meet dark hazel eyes. And he stopped thinking.

He’d never kissed another man before. Had never been kissed with such suggestive lightness. Maybe Solo expected him to bolt again. Leaning closer, Luke sought to prolong the contact, eyes closing automatically. Han’s arms tightened around him and brought them chest to chest, but all motion froze in another moment.

Luke broke the kiss to say, “it’s okay, my back’s just fine,” and it came out in a husky whisper. He wrapped his arms around Han’s torso in turn, and almost forgot to breathe when their lips met again. Han’s mouth moved determinedly against his own, searching, clinging, intensifying the pressure. A volley of sparks chased straight into Luke’s stomach. Solo had pulled him close enough to feel every breath and heartbeat, and suddenly Luke wanted to melt into him. The devastating warmth in his stomach radiated down into his groin when he felt the tip of Han’s tongue probe and lick at his lips, and he opened to the kiss with a sharp rush of breath. His fingers moved into the thick brown hair as he clung to Han’s mouth, his head tilting to allow deeper contact.

He was left gasping when Solo finally drew away.

“Why d’you stop?” he managed.

“Because you need to rest,” Han said, mouth curling into a lopsided grin. “And if we go on like that, I might just forget all about it.”

“But I—” Luke started to protest.

“Doctor’s orders,” Han repeated firmly. “I’ll be back later.” Disentangling, he traced the shape of Luke’s mouth with his thumb, holding his eyes another moment. “Okay?”

Luke nodded slowly.

“Right. I hope that knocks a couple of sins off my personal register.” Flashing him another grin, Solo straightened and left the room.

In the silence that followed, Luke heard his own uneven breath and swallowed. His heart was still beating fast too, and another part of his anatomy pulsed with equal fervor. He felt hot all over. Perhaps his experience was limited, but no kiss had ever had quite the same effect on him. He didn’t think he could blame it on the concussion either.

Easing back down, Luke snaked a hand under the covers and palmed his gently throbbing sex. Even touching himself felt different, now that his errant imagination substituted Han’s touch for his own. With a sigh, Luke turned to lie on his belly. He was too tired to think about it and welcomed the heaviness of sleep that rolled over him in a single, infinitely gentle wave.

* * *

Sometime during the night, a noise or motion stirred him half-awake. As his eyes adapted to the dimness, he discerned Han’s form on the other side of the bed. The sheet had slipped down to his waist, exposing the broad shoulders and back. For a while, Luke lay watching him drowsily and from there drifted back into dreamless sleep.

When he finally woke, bright morning streamed through the curtains, and the bed beside him was empty. Crinkles in the sheet and an indent in the pillow were all that proved Solo’s presence during the night.

Luke moved with wary slowness, warned by a distant buzz at the back of his head. Still, the concussion’s aftereffects seemed no worse than a mild hangover. Certainly no reason to stay in bed all day.

He located the bath and showered, but when he returned to the bedroom, there was no trace of his jumpsuit. Tucking the towel around his hips, Luke proceeded into the spacious living area and glanced around. Solo had obviously gone to work, and he began feeling like an intruder. From a desk by the window, a datascreen blinked at him.

 _Take it easy_ , the message read. _I’ve programmed the synth for breakfast. Clothes are in the bedroom locker, help yourself. I’ll catch you later_.

Luke didn’t quite know what to make of it. Running his fingers through damp hair, he looked out the window, across the white towers of Cloud City. Did Solo intend for him to stay? Did he want to? Well, he could use all day to make up his mind — meanwhile, he’d better get dressed. And since he’d obviously ruined his jumpsuit in the fall, there was no help for it, he’d have to borrow from Solo’s clothes.

Rummaging through the locker, Luke found identical sets of open-necked shirts and dark pants, embroidered with variations of the Corellian bloodstripes. Nothing fancy, but that didn’t really surprise him. Despite the apartment’s sweeping elegance, there were no articles of luxury anywhere. In the living area, print-outs and manuals had been scattered across the chairs and desk, and on the settee, a metal container that looked suspiciously like a tool-kit had been deposited. The bedroom was equally sparse with its strictly functional furnishings. If he didn’t know any better, Luke might have suspected that the place’s occupant had only just moved in. Or expected to move on again soon.

He picked a pale blue shirt and a pair of pants which expectably turned out too long for him. Rolling up the legs, Luke checked himself over in the wall mirror. Except for a bruise on his forehead, he looked okay. He touched it thoughtfully. Within the quiet of Solo’s apartment, the past day already seemed like a strange dream, but the Rebellion was equally distant. When he opened the window, a warm air current brushed his face and made it even harder to imagine the infernal cold of Hoth, or the cramped spaces of their underground base, carved laboriously from pack-ice. And although they should have arrived there days ago, the delay left him strangely unconcerned.

Luke buried both hands in his pockets and wandered back into the living room. Disturbed by the drift his own thoughts had taken, he activated the food synth and sat down for breakfast, barely noticing what he ate. Ever since the battle of Yavin, his life had been flight maneuvers and undercover runs, alternating with combat drills, repairs on their battered fighters, and strategy meetings. Even idle days had been spent around hidden bases or on backwater outposts. Maybe it was just the tranquility of this place, getting to him.

He was still deep in thought when the buzzer intruded. Pushing the remains of breakfast into the recycler, Luke went to answer the door.

Outside stood Wedge Antilles, his face pulled into an expression of uneasy expectation.

“Wedge!” Luke said with a smile. “Come in.”

The pilot’s face brightened. “We heard what happened yesterday,” he said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not too bad, considering.”

“Accident-prone as ever,” Wedge teased, striding in after him. “That’s our Commander.”

“Hey, watch it!” Luke returned in the same vein. “If I hadn’t covered your tail out there, you’d be space dust. Check my X-wing. Not a single scratch.”

When he turned back, Wedge had paused for a look around the generous room. “Nice place,” he remarked. “I sure wouldn’t mind staying here for a while.”

“Well, he’s the Baron Administrator,” Luke said, suddenly uncomfortable.

Only a few days ago, Han Solo had been a total stranger, and here he was, moving around his apartment as if he owned the place, wearing Solo’s clothes. He couldn’t help wondering what Wedge thought of it.

“Can I get you something?” he asked.

“No, thanks.” Wedge grinned at him. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. The guys all worried about you last night. Oh, and they say hello. Now I guess I’d better head back there.”

“What about the repairs?” Luke stopped him.

“Don’t worry ‘bout nothing.” Wedge clapped his shoulder. “All’s coming along fine, so you just take it easy for the time being. You deserve it.”

Perhaps, Luke thought as he closed the door behind his friend, it was the way everyone kept telling him to take it easy, that made him nervous. Whatever the reason, he felt suddenly restless and bounced back up from his seat the moment he’d sat down. His head protested with an instant twinge. Massaging his temples, Luke stepped over to the desk where Solo’s message still crawled across the lit screen, almost hypnotic.

What was he doing here? Well, waiting for the man to come back, of course. His gut tightened at the thought. Until now, he’d studiously avoided thinking about the last night and his own reactions, but the moment he remembered Han’s face and the look in his eyes, everything returned in stirring detail and produced a pleasant crawl of sensation on his skin.

That hungry look in Han’s eyes. One thing was certain, no one had ever looked at him that way before... and Luke could finally admit to himself that it was flattering, but that described only a very small part of his mixed sentiments. There was gratitude, naturally, and — well — affection stirred into it, together with instinctive trust. None of it was surprising, given that Solo had gone to some lengths to rescue him and had taken care of him personally, instead of dropping him off at sickbay.

The unsettling part came when he recalled the tight embrace, the feel of Han’s chest crushed against his own, the slowly building pressure that suddenly flared at a single kiss. Maybe Han Solo expected to have that kind of effect on others, but it sure had shaken him to a totally new degree. Even now, Luke’s breath quickened a little as he thought about it.

Luke shook his head and found himself still staring at the screen, but the letters had blurred as his eyes unfocused. Fatigue crawled up his spine. When he turned towards the bedroom, his head started swimming again. Maybe that doctor had had a point about staying down until the concussion’s aftereffects wore off.

Ambling into the bedroom, Luke stretched out on the covers and closed his eyes. He was asleep in another moment.

 

When he drifted out of his doze, sunlight came in at a slanting angle and showed a distinct shade of copper, but he felt too lazy to get up just yet. A leisure day like this was pure luxury, and the hiatus wouldn’t last much longer anyway. Luke’s fingers wandered idly across the sheet. He remembered how it had felt against his heated skin last night. Someone had undressed him. The doctor, one of the medical droids, or Solo? In any case, Han would have been present.

Behind closed eyelids, Luke pictured the scene: himself half-conscious on the bed and Han sitting beside him, unzipping the jumpsuit, slowly running his fingers down his chest... Luke breathed in and out deeply. Yes, he wanted Han’s touch. Even in his numbed state, it had electrified him, and the more he thought about it, the more his body came alive in eager agreement. He needed only glance down at himself where a slight swelling in his pants gave evidence. Still, this wasn’t at all how he’d thought it would be.

 _It_. Love and romance and notions about sex that had remained wrapped in the diffuse haze of adolescent fantasies much too long. Life around several Rebel bases had broadened his horizon somewhat, but his few, hurried encounters with female crew members and techs who’d extended more or less explicit invitations had left him strangely discontent. There had to be more, he kept thinking. Perhaps it was that he lacked the sophistication and urbanity someone like Lando possessed in liberal measure. Luke knew he couldn’t handle personal matters in such a near-professional manner, and another part of him didn’t want to either. The part that couldn’t divide physical pleasure from the thought of love and passion.

 _Yeah, tell that to Solo_... Luke felt a reluctant grin form on his mouth. Twenty-two years old, and still living with his head in the clouds. Han would be shocked by his naivety, or amused, or both. But the fact remained that he’d simply expected romance to strike with thunder and lightning and show him the way. His squad mates probably ascribed his general reticence to a crush on Princess Leia or a wide streak of idealism, but he’d never really wondered about it. Had never had any reason either. Like he could wait as long as it took.

And this, Luke repeated to himself with a glance around the bedroom, was nothing of what he’d expected. None of his limited experiences compared to what he’d felt the last night. The overwhelming ease with which his body had turned on to Han’s touch, taking every thought from his head, and all he’d wanted was to continue...

 _Carnal_ came to mind, one of the words Aunt Beru might have used, with a twinkle of a smile. He could almost see her face and dwelled on the memory for a moment. Now that the pain of losing Owen and Beru was no longer so fresh, it felt good remembering them, it brought back a sense of home. Maybe because he already felt at home here, Luke thought, surprised.

 _Yeah, but you’ll be gone in a few days_... Even more to his surprise, he felt a sharp sting at that. Whatever happened between him and Han, there was no future in it. Not the spark of hope for feelings to build and deepen — if that was even a possibility. Han sure hadn’t given him the impression of being the type who harbored romantic dreams. If they took this any further, it would be limited to a night or three, to this bright, unreal city in the clouds. Something in him still recoiled from the prospect and demanded more.

More? And where would he find that? With a Rebel contingent that hurried from one base to the next? Between skirmishes and fast retreats? _You could be dead next week_ , Luke told himself with hard-won sobriety. Too many of his companions had already died, and he’d had a few close brushes himself. Awareness of death had changed him more than any other experience. Honest to himself, he didn’t think he could put life off until the war was over.

Maybe it was time to gather some good memories at least, something to hang on to when the Rebellion’s fortunes slipped again. Or just for the nights in a freezing dorm on Hoth.

Luke rolled over and pillowed his face on folded arms. Like he needed any kind of justification. The truth was far simpler and suffused him inside out whenever he let himself think of the last night, of Han’s eyes smoldering on him, the seduction of that mouth against his own. _I’m not going to wait any longer_ , he thought, _I want him, whatever comes after_...

As if on cue, there was a noise from the outer room, and Luke sat up with a start, realizing that the coppery afternoon glow had flared into an effusive sunset ranging from bronze to deep vermilion. And the fierce light outlined Han Solo who stood in the doorway with a crooked grin.

“Hiya, kid,” he said. “Still here, I see. How’re you feelin’?”

He sounded pleased, Luke noted, as if he’d half expected to find his place deserted. “Much better,” he returned. “I dozed off for a couple of hours, but now I’m fine.”

“Good. What’s for dinner?” Han asked.

Luke shrugged apologetically. “I hadn’t thought—”

“Just kidding. Why don’t you just program the synth for whatever you like while I take a shower,” Solo suggested casually. As if it was perfectly natural for them to be here together, plan the evening, go to bed... There was only a single bed in the apartment. And sharing it again wouldn’t be at all like it had been the last night.

“Okay,” Luke said with some delay, hoping the sudden nervousness didn’t reflect in his voice. “I guess I can handle the synth.”

On his way to the bathroom, Han touched his shoulder briefly. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

Luke stayed where he was for another moment until he could wrench himself away. Han handled everything with such ease, his manner perfectly relaxed and unassuming. Luke sighed as he walked over to the food synth.

The man was becoming a riddle to him all over again. Did Han simply expect them to fall into bed, because he’d stayed around? Or didn’t he expect anything at all and was content to wait for whatever happened? From the way he’d acted last night, Luke thought him capable to make no demands on him whatsoever. Very definitely, that thought held no appeal. Luke’s eyes swept across the available menus and side dishes. Now that he’d made his decision, he’d better go for it. His heart gave a little jump, and he smiled at himself, at once nervous and impatient.

When Han entered the living area again, he’d changed into a dark brown shirt that looked a little more elegant than his usual wear, the smooth fabric hugging his torso. Together with the black pants and high boots, it created a startlingly different impression — a predatorous sensuality that instantly seemed to fold around Luke. Maybe it wasn’t the clothes so much as the way Han moved, he thought, watching him. All that controlled ease and intensity about him, heightened by the bronze backlighting of Bespin’s sunset.

“Looks nice,” Han commented, appraising the laid table. “You’ve picked some of my favorites. What about drinks?”

“Your choice,” Luke said, momentarily at a loss.

“You like wine? I’ve got a little store back here...” Solo returned with a slender bottle. The contents flashed purple when he held it up, then pulled the cork. “Give it a try.”

Sitting down, Luke took a sip from the glass Han had poured for him, and the heavy aroma rolled on his tongue. Wherever this vintage came from, it had more class than anything he’d ever sampled, and he told Han as much.

“Yeah, well, it’s special, and pretty rare by now,” the Corellian returned, reaching for the bowl of mixed salad. “It’s from Alderaan.”

Luke sat back, dumbstruck.

“What?” Han asked, raising a brow.

“I... well, we came to Alderaan shortly after it had been destroyed,” Luke explained after a pause. “It looked like an asteroid field, but the whole planet was gone. I just couldn’t believe it. None of us could, at first.”

When he looked up again, Han’s expression had darkened. “Good thing that Death Star no longer exists. I ain’t got no plans for getting mixed up in all this, but if they can do this type of thing... well, there’s no stopping them anymore. They’ll own the whole galaxy and everyone in it.”

“They never will,” Luke said with hope more than actual conviction.

“I’ll drink to that,” Solo agreed, the hint of a grin curving his mouth, but he only turned his glass over in his fingers. “Look,” he added, “Alderaan’s gone. And that wine’s gonna turn sour if nobody drinks it, and then that’ll be gone as well. No point in wasting it. It’s as good a way to remember as any.”

“I guess so,” Luke said softly, surprised to realize that Han was offering comfort in his own practical way. “Here’s to Alderaan then.”

“Right.” Han took a sip and put his glass down firmly to fill his plate. “And now you can tell me why you were going to Alderaan and how you took that battle station down. If you want.”

“It’s a long story.”

Han waved a hand. “I’ve got time.”

Although it was no longer a matter of protecting Alliance secrets, Luke felt reluctant at first and kept his tale to the most skeletal facts. But as dinner progressed and Han kept encouraging him with questions and comments, the story flowed more easily. When daylight faded to a dim, amber glean, Han activated a glowsphere over the table. It spilled a soft shine that left most of the room in darkness.

“I don’t think I could’ve hit a target as small as that without Ben’s help,” Luke finished. “Or the Force.”

“I’d call it luck,” Han said skeptically, but at the same time, his eyes seemed to hold a certain respect.

“That’s what most people call it.”

“And maybe they’re right.” Han shrugged. “So what’d you get for blowing that thing?”

“A medal.” Luke grinned. “A job as a fighter pilot, concentrate rations three times a day, and a roof over my head. Most of the time.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Han said sarcastically.

“It’s okay. And it’s not that different from what I had on Tatooine, except for the flying.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s worth a whole lot of trouble,” Han conceded.

They talked on for a while, but the pauses lengthened, and Luke could feel Solo’s eyes on him as he pretended to concentrate on his food. Talking about the Death Star and Yavin had kept him off eating, and now his appetite had suddenly dwindled. Instead, tension crawled up his legs and curled silkily in his belly.

“You finished?” Han asked.

“Yeah, I guess.” Automatically, Luke rose to clear away his plate and found dark hazel eyes raking down the length of his body. He turned abruptly and took the remains of his meal to the recycler chute.

 _Well, do something_ , he told himself. Perhaps Han was waiting for some sign from him, but he’d have to improvise. And hope to hell he could avoid making a blunder of it.

Han had leaned back in his seat when he returned, long legs stretched under the table. “What’s for dessert?” he asked.

“I don’t know. What do you want?” The words were out before Luke had caught the double meaning.

Han reached for his hand and motioned him to his side. “I think you know that,” he said, his voice lower, deeper than before. “Question is, how about you?”

“Dessert can wait,” Luke answered and thought that he sounded a little too breathless. To make up for it, he laced his fingers firmly through Han’s and pulled him to his feet.

“Yeah? I like the sound of that.”

Han had wrapped both arms around him before he’d even finished the sentence, and Luke moved his hands up to the wide shoulders simultaneously. Excitement lashed into his stomach at the full-length contact of Solo’s thighs, hips, and chest against his own. He swallowed hard and pulled the man a little closer. A smile hovered on Han’s mouth, but his eyes were dark and unreadable when he leaned over to brush a kiss against Luke’s lips.

Then, to Luke’s surprise, he drew back, studying him. “I guess we’d better get something straight, kid. I can tell you like me, but if you think you gotta do this ‘cause I helped you out—”

“What?” Luke blurted with a startled laugh. “Remember the first night? Can’t you tell the difference?”

Not entirely convinced, Solo regarded him pensively.

“All right... maybe I’d better show you.” It was mostly bravado, but he couldn’t back off now. Luke stroked his hand up the Corellian’s neck and into the shaggy dark mane, coaxing him closer. He placed a gentle kiss against Han’s mouth, barely moving his lips to savor warmth and texture instead. “Last night was for hauling me out of that dump,” he said softly. “This one’s for the repairs. The rest... ‘cause I want to, okay?”

“Good enough for me.” A wide grin broke on Solo’s face. “Here, let’s finish the wine...”

One arm slung around Luke’s waist, he reached for his half-drained glass with the other hand and took a swig, then held it to Luke’s lips. Tilting his head, Luke felt the wine run down his throat, rich and mellow. The drained glass was returned to the table with a soft clink, and Han’s mouth swooped down on him again. Licking the last drops of wine off his lips, Han’s tongue darted in between his teeth, teasing and retreating.

With closed eyes, Luke molded himself to the taller frame and the strong hands that roamed down his back. His mouth opened under Han’s, and all of his senses seemed to open up at the same time. He felt himself go hard against the supple pressure of Han’s thigh, but his gasp was swallowed up in a slow, sensuous kiss, inviting him to challenge and explore in return while the warmth of Han’s body seeped into him, permeated him. Through the building haze of excitement, Luke wondered just what was going to happen to him if a single kiss could turn his knees weak like that.

He slipped his tongue into Han’s mouth, folded in a tighter embrace that made him aware of the hardness at Han’s groin, pressed against his own belly. It shot through Luke’s body like pure fire. Han’s breath had quickened as well, he realized at length, and Han’s fingers were curled tightly around the back of his neck, urging him into a deeper kiss. Intoxicating pleasure rolled through his veins together with the wine. His breath came in short gasps when Han released his mouth, lips trailing sideways to fasten on a very sensitive spot under his ear.

Luke let his head fall back to allow him better access. He’d never felt so shaken and excited and entirely unable to control his responses. When Han eased his legs apart with his thigh, Luke leaned into the welcome support of the table behind him. His hands slid down to Han’s waist and settled on his hips, gripping hard. Han moved against him with controlled urgency, and Luke suppressed a moan. A melting sensation started somewhere in his lower back and from there radiated out into his chest, his stomach, his groin where it flared into fierce heat.

“Han,” he murmured, his mouth gone dry.

A warm hand caressed his jaw. When Luke opened his eyes, Han’s face was very close. Beautiful dark eyes reflecting the sphere’s glow and a deeper spark from within. Luke swallowed and thought that he’d never wanted anyone so badly — more accurately, that he’d never really wanted anyone — like he didn’t have a bone left in his body, because all of him was sensation.

Han gave a crooked little smile and shook his head. “If I’d known it’d be like this, I sure wouldn’t’ve been so... noble about it last night.”

“Didn’t want you to.”

Luke closed his eyes again and it felt like sinking into burning velvet. All he could do was hold on hard and concentrate on breathing every now and then. His heart drummed wildly, and each time Han’s thigh rubbed against his erection, he thought he was going to explode.

When a big hand settled over his groin with breathtaking directness, Luke moaned helplessly. Hot tingles traveled up his legs. Heat pulsed inside the tight confines of his pants as Han stroked him in a slow, delirious rhythm. The pressure grew everywhere in his body, reaching a new level of intensity, and his hips flexed forward. Into the hand kneading him, playing with him through the cloth of his pants. A stifled groan left his throat in a whimper as he clutched at Han.

Climax tore through him before Luke had a chance to regret his loss of control. Shuddering, he buried his face at Han’s chest.

When time and place settled back into more familiar patterns, they were still in the living room, leaning against the table where they’d had dinner, and Han’s arms were around him, hands stroking gentle caresses down his back.

“Oh, damn,” Luke whispered hoarsely.

A soft chuckle answered him. Tilting his chin up, Han asked, “Is that all you’re gonna say about it?”

Sensible thought formed slowly. “I just... I didn’t mean to...” Luke shook his head. “I don’t want it to be over.”

“We’ve got all night.”

“It was... amazing.”

Sparks seemed to ignite in the dark hazel eyes. “You are,” Han said in that low, husky voice. “And now we’d better move over to the bedroom before we break the rest of the dishes.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Luke realized that an empty wine glass had rolled off the table and shattered on the floor. He hadn’t noticed anything.

Han took his hand. “On second thought, we should take a little trip to the shower first. C’mon.”

Suddenly aware of the uncomfortable stickiness between cloth and skin, Luke made no objections.

In the bathroom, Han turned on the water and began stripping down his clothes with perfect casualness. After only a moment’s hesitation, Luke followed suit. Life around Rebel bases allowed little privacy, and the showers were no exception. Still, this was worlds away from showering with the other pilots in his squadron. Discarding shirt and pants, Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off the lean, muscular body, revealed inch by inch as Han undressed.

The smoothly muscled chest was dusted with dark hair that tapered to a thin line across the flat stomach. Sliding his pants down, Han kicked them aside, and Luke’s gaze swept up the long legs, drawn to the hard shaft jutting out from Han’s groin. He shouldn’t be staring like that, Luke thought, but felt disappointed in spite of himself when Han turned to step into the shower. With a deep breath, Luke followed him into the warm spray.

The narrow space immediately brought them close together. Reaching for the soap, Han moved his hands across Luke’s shoulders and chest, then passed the soap on to him. Sliding his fingers over wet skin, Luke let himself relax. Touching came so easy with Han, and he gave in to curiosity without further thought. There was nothing awkward about it as he explored Han’s body with gentle, sweeping motions. Tanned hands glided down to his waist and stilled there.

“Feels good,” Han murmured.

Luke smiled and shook drops of water out of his eyes. He moved his hands in circles across the broad chest, slowly adding pressure. The cadence of Han’s breathing changed slightly. Encouraged, Luke flicked his fingertips across the dark nipples, felt them tighten through the soft hair. Han expelled a noisy breath and pulled him a little closer, close enough for the tip of his penis to brush Luke’s skin. Instant reaction lit up Luke’s nerves and tensed the muscles in his belly. Stroking both palms down Han’s torso, he felt mirrored tension in the wall of hard muscle over Han’s stomach. While his thumbs traced sharply defined hipbones, he leaned forward to trail his lips up the side of Han’s throat.

When his fingers found their ultimate target and curled around the rigid shaft, Han breathed in raggedly. One hand cupping Luke’s chin, he swept his face up for a lingering kiss. Water trickled over their faces and added its liquid caress. As the kiss grew more fervent, Luke felt his own excitement rekindle with a gentle glow in his stomach. Han pushed into his hand, and he tightened his grip reflexively.

In another instant, Han broke away with a gasp and in one swift move turned him around, so that they were pressed back to front, skin sliding against wet skin. Leaning back into him, Luke closed his eyes. Slippery with soap, Han’s hands roamed down his torso, his erection pressing hard into the small of Luke’s back.

“Mmmh...” Han’s mouth fastened on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Not to hurry you, but if you wanna finish this in bed, now would be a good time.”

“You mean before we get ourselves all shriveled up?” Luke felt lightheaded as he slipped from Solo’s hold and scooped up several towels.

Still dripping wet, they entered the bedroom, but half-hearted attempts to towel each other dry soon made way to impassioned embraces, and muffled laughter turned into gasps of pleasure.

Seizing control, Luke pushed Han back against the mattress. His senses filled with the sight of tanned skin against the starkly white sheet, with the warmth of Han’s body and the sound of his increasingly erratic breathing. While his hands made their way down the long body, Luke bent to scatter kisses across Han’s throat and chest. Cool water beaded on hot skin, a taste as rich and heady as the wine.

Pressed close against Han’s side, Luke reached down to his groin. Han’s erection strained towards his touch and slid delightfully through his fingers, smooth as silk. Diffusely, Luke felt his own penis fill out and lift again, but the pleasure he caused seemed much closer than his own body’s reactions. Squeezing a little harder, he began to pump in a gentle rhythm, and Han pressed off the mattress to meet his strokes. Heat reflected through Luke’s belly as he watched, absorbing every flutter of muscle, the taut tension in Han’s thighs as he pushed his feet against the mattress.

Abruptly, Han tugged his head up and pulled him close, crushing their lips together in a hard kiss, gasping into Luke’s mouth as he slid his tongue in deeply. He thrust up into Luke’s fist a few more times, then broke the kiss just as suddenly, freezing.

Luke bit his lip, a deep thrill lancing into his groin. A raspy sound fled Han’s lips, and he tossed his head back sharply as he came, the sight of him so enthralling that Luke forgot to breathe as Han’s semen spilled over his fingers and spattered against Han’s belly.

With a deep, panting breath, Han sagged back against the mattress and drew Luke’s head against his shoulder.

“I liked that,” he said at length, breaking the silence with a lazy smile, and brushed his mouth against Luke’s hair. “Very much.”

“I could tell.”

Han laughed softly. “Yeah, and it turned you on, too. Guess I’d better do something about that, huh?”

Fine sparks warmed Luke’s stomach from within. “Like what?” he asked.

Cradled to Han’s side, his burgeoning erection was trapped between their bodies, and the slightest movement brought on the most delicious sensations.

“Like this...” In one fluid motion, Han was on top of him, straddling his thighs while he pressed a firm kiss to Luke’s mouth.

Momentarily speechless, Luke reached for his shoulders to hold him right where he was. The weight and pressure of Han’s body covering him completely did strange things to him. It challenged him to reverse their positions and at the same time gave him a sense of security that was almost overwhelming in its intensity. Maybe it was the combination of both that sent such a jab of arousal into his groin.

Before he could explore the feeling any further, Han had already moved downward. Propped on his elbows, he took some weight off Luke’s chest to nuzzle his throat. His mouth made warm, eloquent patterns across sweat-dewed skin, and when his tongue teased and circled a nipple, Luke arched his back with a small moan. But within a few more moments, he discovered that his stomach and belly were equally sensitive to the flickering touches of Han’s lips and tongue. Pleasure crawled all over his skin, and he began to squirm and writhe under Han’s caresses. No longer centered in his groin, the sensations wrapped around him like a shimmering web of energy, slowly pulling tighter.

While Han moved over him, his body brushed against Luke’s erection, seemingly accidenttal and tantalizing — though without doubt, Han knew exactly what he was doing. Lips fastening on Luke’s navel, his tongue swept out and circled, provoking a flash of heat that made Luke buck in sheer surprise. The sudden motion brought his erection up against Han’s chest, and Han gripped it firmly.

Luke choked down a small cry when a lash of the tongue against the tip seared all the way up his spine. A moment later, wet heat engulfed him with gentle pressure and took his breath. He was losing control again, a small part of him protested, but there was very little he could do except claw at the sheets and try to stop himself from shaking. Han had settled comfortably between his legs, both hands firmly clasping Luke’s hips while he sucked with unsparing determination.

The pleasure was so intense that it took Luke close to another precipice at once, and he fought against an overwhelming urge to push deeper into Han’s mouth. When he finally risked a glance, the sight of Han poised over him, slowly taking all of him into his mouth, sent a sharp thrill racing through every nerve.

One hand stroking up the inside of his thigh, Han shifted position until he could reach between Luke’s legs, fondling gently, teasing his fingers deeply into the heat that gathered there. The suction increased, and at the same time, Luke felt a finger probe and slip into him, retreating to return with a little thrust. He pulled his knees up in reflex, no longer able to restrain the sobbing sounds of pleasure.

“Han!” he gasped, and perhaps he’d intended a warning, but his hands followed a different impulse. Pushing off the mattress, he buried his fingers in the shaggy hair, silently pleading for more. Han retributed with playful thrusts of his fingers, and then there was no telling the sensations apart. Everything coalesced in a flood of ecstatic pleasure.

Dimly aware of his own frantic movements, Luke trembled in the grip of long pleasure spasms that hurtled him up into a star-shot weightlessness. His heart pounded so hard that he heard nothing else.

He was still panting heavily when Han raised his head and grinned. “Whoa, kid,” he said, “at the speed you’re going, how’m I ever gonna catch up with you?”

“It’s not me, it’s you,” Luke managed, without much hope of making sense.

Han stretched out beside him. “Been a long time since the last time, huh?”

“No... I mean — there never was any last time,” Luke admitted, surprised at how easy it came. “Not with another guy. Guess I never really knew what I was missing.”

Han regarded him speculatively. “Or what the male part of the galaxy was missing in turn.” His fingers drifted across Luke’s hair with slow, gentling motions. “Come to think of it — hey, I’m honored. But don’t tell me you never got any offers.”

“I don’t think so.” Luke indicated a shrug. “Not that I noticed.”

“You mean it took a crude Corellian to come along and make it real blunt?” Han chuckled.

“Well, I—” Luke broke off, not sure what he’d intended to say. _It had nothing to do with it?_ Han’s scarcely veiled offer had triggered unfamiliar ideas and made him wonder, but at the same time, there was so much more to it, by far too much to contemplate right now. “Did you know this’d happen?” he asked instead.

A slow, deliberate grin curled Han’s mouth. “I always get what I want.” Humor flashed in his eyes. “Now, what about that dessert that we skipped?”

“I couldn’t even get up.”

“And I already had mine,” Han said, licking his lips suggestively.

Warmth flushed Luke’s throat and face, merging embarrassment and a spark of excitement at the remembered pleasure. “That was...” He shook his head, giving up before he’d even started perusing his limited vocabulary. “Thanks.”

“Well, maybe you owe me one,” Han returned easily, running two fingers down Luke’s jaw. “Oh no, don’t look at me that way! If the doctor could see us now, he’d say you’ve exerted yourself enough for one day — or one night.”

With that, he leaned over and dropped a kiss on Luke’s forehead before pulling the covers over them.

* * *

Luke came awake to strange, alarming noises somewhere close. It took him a few moments to make sense of his surroundings and to realize that rumbling sounds drifted from the living area before they suddenly culminated in a roar.

Next to him, Han turned over groggily. “Chewie!” he shouted. “Stop that racket!”

The noises subsided into irate growls, combined with the shuffling of steps.

“I’m takin’ a day off,” Han protested.

When Luke lifted his head and glanced across him, the Wookiee towered in the door, watching them curiously in the bright daylight. Softer growls and hoots were issued in Han’s direction.

“Yeah, all right,” Han grumbled. “Luke, this is Chewbacca. Chewie, meet Luke Skywalker. And now that you’ve seen him, get outta here. I’ll be down in a couple minutes.”

Deep-set blue eyes wandered from him to Luke. Chewbacca cocked his head. Luke had the strangest feeling about this huge creature appraising him and the thoughtful look in those eyes. With a guttural rumble, the Wookiee retreated.

Han sighed and stretched. “Gotta go mind the store, it looks like. You stay in bed and catch a few more winks for me, okay?”

He pushed up, but before he could swing his legs over the side of the bed, Luke caught his hand.

“What?” Han turned and studied him with clear hazel eyes.

“Good morning.”

Without apparent reason, Han’s expression changed, and he grabbed Luke close for a short, emphatic kiss with open lips. “G’morning, you too,” he muttered and disentangled, winking at Luke. “Now, why don’t you bring all your stuff here. No point in paying for that dump if you ain’t gonna use it. I’ll see you later.”

When he’d pulled fresh clothes from the drawers and left, whistling, still fumbling with his shirt’s fasteners, Luke lay back with closed eyes. No way was he going to go back to sleep. Memories of the last night were far too vivid in his nervous system, revived by the taste and pressure of Han’s mouth on his lips. And Han obviously wanted him to spend the remaining nights here, in this bed, with him. The prospect sped his pulse.

Good thing that he’d mentioned it, too, Luke thought with a wry grin at himself. Otherwise, he might have wasted half the day wondering and trying to make up his mind, and this day was definitely too bright for worries. Profound contentment permeated him, and from it grew a buzz of pure energy that made it impossible to stay in bed any longer.

After he’d showered and dressed, Luke made his way down to maintenance, both to retrieve his bag and to check up on the repairs. Wedge was in the process of inspecting his X-wing’s astromech socket, assisted by Jaime Duven, a dark-skinned pilot on his first mission with the squadron. He’d broken his arm during the skirmish, when his flight chair tore loose and trapped him against the console.

“Hi, Luke,” he said sheepishly. “How’s it going?”

“Okay. And how are you?” He’d better deflect too close attention from himself, Luke thought. He had to look more than a little dazed.

Jaime tugged at the pressure sling he wore around his bandaged arm. “Guess that’ll come off this afternoon. I’m fine.”

“Jaime!” Wedge called down from the back of his fighter. “Get me the phase proofer, will you? Some of the wiring looks pretty messed up.”

Jaime shrugged. “Sure thing.”

When he’d trudged off, Wedge climbed down the access ladder, and Luke wondered, with faint uneasiness, if he’d sent the rookie pilot away on purpose.

“Always the same with those flight techs in civilian ports,” Wedge grumbled. “They think astromechs are some kind of gadget with no serious function except occasional weather reports.”

“You’d be bored silly if they didn’t,” Luke pointed out with a soft laugh. They looked at each other for a moment, then Luke added, “Listen, I’ll be staying at Solo’s place for the rest of the time, in case you need me.”

Brown eyes returned his gaze thoughtfully. “Well, thanks for letting me know,” Wedge said. “Once we’re back on Hoth, we’re all gonna wish for brighter and warmer places like this one. Enjoy while it lasts. And, you know... just go along with what feels right.”

Although no explicit reference to Han had been made, Luke understood perfectly what Wedge intimated. No matter what he and the other pilots thought about it, none of it would ever get mentioned, and when they’d returned to their Hoth base, the whole interlude would simply drop from their minds. As if it had never been.

“Sure,” Luke returned noncommittally, but his voice sounded a little tight to his own ears. “When d’you think they’ll have our fighters ready?”

“Two more days. I just talked to the chief mechanic. He says we can expect to lift off first thing in the morning, the day after tomorrow.”

“Great,” Luke said without enthusiasm, absently watching as Wedge scaled the access ladder again. Two more days. Less than he’d hoped.

Shouldering his bag, Luke felt another twinge of conscience, immediately joined by annoyance. Although their cargo was needed only to stock up the base’s medical supplies, they were overdue and Command would be seriously worried by now. More, there was always the risk of Imperial patrols or probe droids locating the hidden Rebel base. Emergencies could arise any day. He should be itching to return there.

But, no way around it, being with Han had seriously affected his sense of duty and generated half-admitted doubts about his life with the Rebels. He shouldn’t let it get to him like that, Luke told himself. What was he, an impressionable teenager who lost every sense of orientation and purpose after one night in a soft, luxurious bed? And perhaps it would be all for the better if they departed in two days, before he could get himself confused over impossible fantasies and start questioning all he believed in.

Luke shook his head softly. Nothing could do that, he thought. His belief in the Rebellion was still as fierce as ever, fueled by loss of family and friends and the many forms of injustice he’d come to witness since the battle of Yavin. He was still as ready to die fighting the Empire, if necessary, but how could he not love life? Right now, with the sun warming his face and his body resonating with energy, it felt so incredibly good to be alive. Maybe he just hadn’t been so aware of it in a long time.

As he mulled these things over, Luke wandered around the landing platforms and when he looked up again found himself not too far from Solo’s ship. Against the brilliantly blue sky, the Stingray’s hull gleamed almost white in the sunlight.

As he walked closer, Luke realized that the boarding ramp was down. Stretched out on a mechanic’s creeper, the Wookiee was working on something in the ship’s undercarriage. Tools clanked, and muted growls orchestrated the repairs. Luke watched for a while, intrigued. Chewbacca’s appearance this morning had given him the impression that Han and the Wookiee were even closer than he’d assumed, friends rather than business partners. And for all Luke knew, Wookiees preferred the company of their own kind. Most definitely, he’d never heard of such an attachment to a human.

Before he could think of retreating, his presence had been noticed. With surprising speed, the Wookiee came out from beneath the freighter.

“Hi,” Luke said awkwardly. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Chewbacca gave an expressive shake of the head, accompanied by querulous grumbles. Something about his tinkering obviously caused him major frustration.

“What’re you working on?” Luke asked, sneaking a glance at the ship’s underside. Wires spilled from an open compartment, but he couldn’t guess what their function might be. In their presently wild disarray, they weren’t good for anything.

For a moment, the Wookiee regarded him skeptically, as if trying to appraise his visitor’s expertise. Then he began to explain.

At first, his growls, bellows, and wild gestures made no sense at all to Luke, but when Chewbacca took him aboard and to the Stingray’s engineering console, he began guessing what kind of modifications on the repulsor lifts the Wookiee had in mind.

“I could try to get at that component from inside,” he suggested impulsively.

Before he could retract his offer, Chewbacca was already steering him into the corridor that bisected the ship, prow to stern. Luke found himself equipped with work gloves and a selection of tools, and an unmistakable warning not to mess up any part of Han Solo’s pride and joy.

Some time later, he lay belly-down on the deck plates, shoulders and upper torso wedged into a narrow crawlspace when booted steps resounded through the corridor.

“Hey, Luke!” he heard Solo’s voice, but it took him a while to retract his arms and shoulders and twist around.

“You’re supposed to recover from that concussion, not play the mechanic.” The mock-scowl made way to a broad grin when Han added, “Not that I mind the view.” He sent a swift, openly appreciative glance across Luke’s sprawled form.

“What’s the time?” Luke asked while he tried not to blush under that speculative gaze.

“Going on seventeen hundred, and I’m calling it a day.” Han leaned back against the bulkhead. “How long’ve you been at it anyway?”

Shoving to his feet, Luke batted down his pants. “A while. I just came by and Chewbacca could use some help.”

“He must like you. It’s not like he’ll let just anyone play around with the old bucket.”

“Oh yeah? He says the same thing about you.”

“Really? And how would you know? Don’t tell me you’ve got any friendly Wookiees hanging out with the Rebellion, teaching you their language.”

Luke shrugged. “Some of the things he says aren’t all that hard to understand.”

Han eyed him curiously for another moment, then pushed himself off the bulkhead. “Well, now that we’re here, why don’t we take this baby out for a spin? Assuming you’ve got everything fixed back into place.”

“More or less,” Luke answered. “And I’d really like to see her fly.”

“You will,” Han promised with that telltale glint in his eyes. “Let’s just check if Chewie wants to come along.”

It turned out that he didn’t.

“He’s got a date with some really exciting spare part at maintenance,” Han explained as he strode towards the cockpit. “But he’s gonna join us later, for dinner. Looks like you gotta stand in as my co-pilot. Think you can handle it?”

“Sure.” Heading for the co-pilot’s station, Luke surveyed the controls. “I’ve flown the Falcon with Lando several times.”

Han dropped into his flight chair and instead of answering focused on the start-up cycle with a closed-off expression. It had to be the old grudge against Lando that had rendered him suddenly taciturn, Luke supposed, slanting him a sidelong glance. Unless it was the mention of the Falcon and whatever she meant to Han.

“How’d you like it?” Han asked abruptly.

“Flying the Falcon? Oh, she’s really got it where it counts,” Luke answered with cautious enthusiasm. “The fastest ship in our fleet. But... I don’t know, what’s so special about her?”

To his surprise, Han shook his head with a strangely wistful expression. “I don’t know either,” he said softly. “I really don’t.”

However, his mood went through another fast switch as soon as the Stingray lifted off the platform and arrowed into the blazing sky.

Totally relaxed in the flight chair, Han took her through a steep climb followed by some fast spins and corkscrewing maneuvers as if he were trying to outwit the gravity compensator. Several times, Luke was flung back against the oversized chair, stomach flipping and bouncing.

“She’s pretty agile for an old lady, huh?” Han leveled out and shot him a grin.

They’d left Bespin’s atmosphere behind and were sailing out into the black-and-silver panorama of open space. Watching Han’s fingers on the controls, Luke thought that he’d been born a pilot. Flying changed him in so many subtle ways. Pushing out of his chair, Luke studied the diverse displays set into the bulkhead. Great care had been lavished on the modifications of the freighter, with a love for detail conspicuously absent from Han’s apartment. _This is where he belongs_ , Luke thought. _Doesn’t he realize?_

The Stingray traveled through a wide curve when Han suddenly kicked in the aft thrusters and swiveled his chair, in time to catch Luke who’d stumbled backwards, momentarily thrown off balance.

“Hey—!” With a startled laugh, Luke found himself sprawling on the Corellian’s lap.

“Never let anything throw you, kid!” Han wrapped an arm tightly around his waist and pulled him closer while he gave his seat a slight push. They rotated back towards the viewport. “Great sight, huh?”

The sound of Han’s voice close by his ear raised the hair on the back of Luke’s neck in a pleasant little shiver. Outside shimmered the stars with those unlimited promises he’d felt since boyhood, while the warmth and pressure of Han’s body filled him with a different longing.

Slightly breathless, Luke turned his face and wrapped a hand around Han’s neck, urging his mouth down against his own. Within moments, their tongues engaged in playful fencing, and Luke’s breath came harder as nerves caught alight everywhere in his body. Han’s hand detached from his waist to glide down the length of his thigh, then returned trailing up the inside with greater pressure. A hot pulse picked up in Luke’s groin, stiffened him, and he broke the kiss.

“Han...” he warned, torn between desire and exasperation at his uncontrollable responses. He caught the searching fingers in his own and stopped their roaming.

A quiet sigh was blown against his ear. “All right, all right,” Han muttered. “Can’t stand Chewie up for dinner, can we? It’ll have to keep for later...”

 _Gods, I hope not_ , Luke thought as he returned to the co-pilot’s seat. He wouldn’t be left with much of an appetite if he couldn’t keep his body in check for the while. With a private sigh of his own, Luke directed his attention at the re-entry into atmosphere.

* * *

Dinner went by in a relaxed mood, and Luke managed to finish his portion despite recurring tingles of anticipation whenever he felt Han’s eyes on him. He also noticed that Chewbacca was watching the two of them, and at one point the Wookiee made a remark that brought a light flush to Solo’s tanned face.

“Gimme a break here, Chewie,” he said with a flustered laugh, “humans don’t have mating cycles!”

Chewbacca snorted dubiously, but his eyes seemed to light up with silent laughter.

They left the restaurant a few minutes later, proceeding straight to the nearest lift bank. Neither of them spoke, and Luke felt expectation build inside him like an electrical charge.

As soon as they’d entered the apartment, Han grabbed him in a tight embrace, and they shared impulsive kisses without turning the lights on, hands fumbling with the fasteners of each other’s shirts, diving beneath the fabric. Luke felt the muscles in Han’s stomach and chest harden with tension under his caressing fingers, while his mouth was conquered in a deep, searching kiss.

Not letting go for a second, Han managed to steer him into the equally unlit bedroom. One hand playing through Luke’s hair, he loosened his belt with the other. His fingers slid under the waistband to cradle Luke’s hip and travel around, molding his buttocks. Luke moaned and pressed into him. He rubbed a stiffened nipple with his palm and followed with his lips to suck gently, delighted by the gasp that rewarded his ministrations. Han kneaded his buttocks in a slow rhythm, the pressure of his hand and body creating twin blazes of heat that collided fiercely in Luke’s groin. His fingers unsnapped Han’s belt in turn and sidled towards the hardness bulging the black cloth.

“C’mon now,” Han said roughly, pulling him towards the bed. “C’mon...”

Dropping down on the edge of the mattress, Luke pulled off his left boot while Han tugged at the other, throwing him off balance. Before Luke could sit up again, Han was on him, licking at his mouth while he worked Luke’s pants and briefs further down until they tangled around his knees. Luke kicked them off. Han’s grip was roughly impatient and rendered him breathless with excitement. Pausing only to slide his own zippers down, Han didn’t give him a chance to move away, and they stayed like that, half on and half off the bed, pressed together in an urgent struggle for closeness. Squeezing a hand between them, Luke’s fingers dived through tangled fabric and found the hot shaft, pulling it free. Another ragged gasp escaped Han’s throat. He helped Luke slide his pants down his hips, but didn’t bother to undress further. Instead, he pushed his knee between Luke’s thighs and moved across him in one swift lunge.

Luke tried to bite back another moan and failed. Once again, the weight and feel of Han’s body atop him ignited overwhelming sensations. Dizziness fueled into a hot blaze when Han’s cock pushed hard against his own. They were undulating together, and Luke pulled up his knees to heighten the pressure, his thighs clasped around Han’s lean hips. With a breathless curse, Han thrust against him, his feet still firmly planted against the floor to give him leverage. Luke felt the mattress bounce with each forward lunge while his mind spun away into pure sensation. Han raised himself, and Luke’s hands slid from his shoulders down the hard chest that lifted and fell with increasingly harsh breaths.

A white flood of pleasure rose inside him, and Luke couldn’t hold it back any more than he could stop the gasps that wracked his chest. Fierce pleasure transported him to a place where all he felt was Han’s touch and skin and the throbbing need that shot into his groin. He writhed, tried to push up against Han and heard his own ragged moans of completion from a dizzying, breathless height.

Heatwaves were still pounding and rolling through his nerves when he felt Han ram against him one more time, then break the rhythm with a rough groan. Shuddering through his own climax, Han pushed his hips into him and collapsed into Luke’s embrace.

“I think,” he finally muttered, “you’re out to break a speed record or something...”

Still too winded to speak, Luke shook his head.

Propping his chin on one hand, Han gave a lush sigh. “Sure you are,” he insisted. “It doesn’t always happen to me like this, y’know.”

“Well, I—” Luke cleared his throat awkwardly, strangely touched by Han’s words.

But before he could say more, the Corellian leaned over and dropped a breathy kiss on his forehead. “Looks like we’re in for another shower. Wanna go first?”

“We could shower together.”

“Hey, I need a minute or two by myself, to recover.” Chuckling, Han levered away. “And you might wanna catch your breath, too.”

Luke sighed. “You go first then.”

By the time Han came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a long, blue robe, he had recovered enough to imagine in great detail how the silky fabric would slide over Han’s skin, but the Corellian padded into the living area to fix himself a drink. Reluctantly, Luke took himself off to the shower.

When he returned, a towel wrapped around his hips, he nearly tripped over the bag he’d dumped in the middle of the bedroom. Recalling what he’d planned to do right on his arrival, Luke pulled out the crumpled flightsuit and draped it over a chair. He was disentangling arms and legs and supply cords for the integrated life support when his lightsaber rolled out of the suit’s folds.

“What’ve you got there?” Han was lounging on the bed, sipping on some amber-colored liquor.

Luke caught the silvery hilt up quickly. “A lightsaber.”

“Lightsaber?” Han echoed, drawing the word out incredulously. “Some kind of Jedi weapon, right? What’re you doin’ with that?”

“Why, what do you think?” It came out more testily than he’d intended, and Luke placed the ‘saber inside his bag without looking at Han.

“I’m thinkin’ that you’re playing around with something real dangerous here,” Han returned, equally sharp. “Just _owning_ that type of gadget can get you locked up in some Imperial slammer with no chance of seeing daylight for a decade or two. Believe me. I’ve seen it happen.”

“You’ve seen what happen?” Luke asked tensely, his hand wrapped around the polished metal tube. Even deactivated, the lightsaber always seemed to thrum with secret energy.

“You know what I’m talkin’ about. They’ve wiped out the entire cult, and now all that’s left of the Jedi’s gloomy tales for little children.” Han put his glass down with a firm clink. “I’m sayin’ that everyone who ever used such a thing wound up dead. Maybe that’s a dead hero to you, but still...”

“Not everyone,” Luke said softly. He could see Ben Kenobi duel with Vader right before his eyes, blue fire crossing red.

“And for what?” Han continued. “To defend some kind of mystic religion? For all the good it did them.”

“Remember what I told you about Ben Kenobi?” Luke countered. “He wasn’t just another rebel, he was trained as a Jedi knight.” Releasing the lightsaber, Luke raised his head to meet the Corellian’s eyes. “He started to teach me the ways of the Force, and—” Suddenly, his voice faltered, and he shook his head. “Forget it.”

For a few moments more, Han studied him closely, a sharp line between his knitted brows, then he got up. “Okay, so Ben was your friend, and now he’s gone too.” He reached out to place a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You just wanna be careful about the ideas he put into your head.”

Despite himself, Luke tensed under his touch. “I’m not the only one who’s got ideas like that.”

“Doesn’t make ‘em any less dangerous.”

“So what?”

An equally snappish answer seemed to hover on Han’s mouth, but then he shook his head. “If that’s what you gotta believe in to keep goin’, then maybe that’s how it’s gotta be.” Both hands closing firmly around Luke’s shoulders, Han held him at arm’s length and shook him lightly. “It’s not gonna bring anyone back from the dead, you know.”

“I know,” Luke said thickly, not entirely sure where all those heavily entangled emotions came from all of a sudden.

When Han’s arms went around him, he hugged back, but something was infinitely different about this embrace.

 _And what do you believe in?_ Luke couldn’t help wondering. But instead of asking, he just held on tighter.

* * *

The apartment was very quiet when he woke up the next morning, and the bed beside him empty. Rolling over to lie on his back, Luke knuckled his eyes. He was a light sleeper usually, but hadn’t noticed when Han got up, and by now the morning was already a few hours old. Without apparent reason, the fact irritated him. It wasn’t as if they’d had too much sleep last night, but still...

Luke fumbled around for his clothes and, partially dressed, wandered into the living room, half hoping to find another message from Han on the datascreen, but there was nothing. Most likely, Han had overslept and left in a rush. Luke stared at the dead screen until the bleak mood gained more definite shape. _One more day. Damn_.

Following a sudden, urgent impulse to get out of the quiet and into the streets, Luke slipped into his boots and left the apartment without breakfast. The walkways and terraces of Cloud City were modestly busy. Sounds of advertising and ambient music from upscale shops floated on the air, mingling with scraps of conversation, but it all just seemed to flow past him, about as real as some touristic program on the holonet. Annoyed at himself, Luke stepped into a lift cabin that took him to a less populated level. He paused on a gallery overlooking one of the countless, elegant cafés and wondered if he should try grabbing breakfast there, provided he could afford it. He didn’t have much of an appetite either, his stomach felt tight, as if clenched together.

 _I shouldn’t let it get to me like this_ , Luke thought again, and knew at the same instant that he already had, and that was the whole trouble. Leaning against the slender railing, he carded his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

When his gaze focused on the crowd in the café again, he spotted Han at a table out on the terrace below, only a few meters from where he stood. Han wasn’t alone though. Three individuals sat with him, two of them leather-skinned humanoids with bald heads and topknots ending in single braids, but all of them male, judging by their heavy travel clothes, boots, and body language. _Business partners?_ Luke wondered, appraising their rough looks. _Smugglers?_

Their weapons holsters were empty, for all he could see, but looked big enough to accommodate heavy blaster models. Whoever they were, Han seemed at ease in their company, and an air of familiarity surrounded the entire group. Luke was about to withdraw when a woman entered the picture and instead of taking a seat in one of the chairs, arranged herself on the table in front of Han, long legs dangling. As she leaned over, heavy black hair swung forward and shimmered blue in the sunlight. Luke didn’t catch any of the conversation, but something the woman said brought a lazy grin to Han’s face. When he reached for his mug on the table, she took his hand playfully, interlacing their fingers.

A former lover? Or just... not yet? Luke pushed his hands into his pockets and tried to ignore the quick, hot stab of jealousy. Whoever she was, whatever role she might yet play in Han’s life, it was none of his business.

Turning back to the lift, Luke caught another glimpse of them out of the corner of his eye, and it felt like a glimpse of the future when he would be gone and Han went back to his usual routines. At this moment, Luke caught himself wishing that he could just climb into his X-wing and take the fighter out into open space, get away from everything.

When the lift stopped again, Luke headed off towards the Stingray almost without a thought. There was nothing he could reasonably do at maintenance anyway, and somehow he didn’t feel like talking to the other pilots. Perhaps Chewbacca was still working on the repulsors and wouldn’t mind some company or assistance.

Undeniable relief flooded him when he saw the Wookiee’s massive shape descend the freighter’s ramp a few moments later.

“Hi,” he said, quickening his strides, “how’re those modifications coming along?”

Chewbacca gave a comical shrug and gestured at the tools that littered the ground, but then his eyes returned to Luke’s face.

“What?” Luke asked, at a loss to understand the Wookiee’s low growls. Once again, that thoughtful look had crept into Chewbacca’s blue eyes, their gentleness at odds with his fierce appearance. Luke wasn’t sure how he knew, but it prompted him to ask the first question that sprang to his mind. “Can I ask you something? You’ve been with Han for a long time, right? I mean — why do you stay with him?”

Warmth began climbing into his face the moment those words were out. _Great, Skywalker, how’s he supposed to answer that one? And how would you make sense of it?_

But instead of offering an answer he wouldn’t have been able to fathom anyway, Chewbacca reached across and ruffled his hair.

“Never mind,” Luke returned with a small, rueful grin. “So... could you use some help?”

* * *

Within four hours, they managed to recalibrate and restructure the entire repulsor matrix, and all the enthusiastic noises Chewbacca produced made Luke grin in spite of himself. Settled on a supply crate, he watched the Wookiee pick up his tools and return each to the proper compartment inside a large box, very carefully, as if putting some tender young creatures to sleep. Luke grinned at the sight.

Spending time in Chewbacca’s company and concentrating on the intricacies of the ship’s systems had lifted his spirits considerably, and Luke was determined to keep it that way. What good would all his brooding do anyhow? There’d be plenty of time for that during the flight back to Hoth, if he couldn’t help himself. Meanwhile, he’d better enjoy the rest of his stay on Bespin.

Quick steps up the freighter’s ramp challenged that plan only a short while later. The living image of a very short temper, Han strode into the small lounge at the ship’s center, a deep frown locked on his face.

“What d’you mean, I’m early?” he snapped at Chewbacca. “I’m the boss of this frakkin’ outfit, remember? I can close the shop whenever I feel like it.”

The Wookiee gave a derisive snort and waved a furred hand at the battered old food synth in the corner before returning his attention to the tool-kit.

“Well, I am,” Han insisted irascibly. “I just don’t see the point in compiling another credit balance for the Mining Guild. I mean — come on, they’re askin’ for the _third_ statement in one single season!” He prowled across the lounge and punched an order into the synth. “If they think I’ve got any deals goin’ on the sides, why don’t those short-wired bantha-brains say so to my face?”

“You’re a member of the Mining Guild?” Luke asked, more to distract Han than out of genuine interest.

“A conscript, kid,” Han corrected him grimly, retrieving a large plasticup from the synth. He took a few swigs, then set the cup down hard. “Yeah, sure,” he continued, “everyone’s free to join or pass up the membership and their blood-suckin’ fees, but if you ain’t a member, they’ll put you through the bureaucratic wringer for every single fucking deal, and then the Imps’ll have you by the family jewels, and we all know what _that’s_ like.” Han gave the synth a livid glare. “I just can’t cope with all the paperwork. It’s nothing but production rates and dividends and markets collapsing...” He broke off with a shake of the head. “Damn. What a life.”

Closing the tool box, Chewbacca gave him a long-suffering look. He’d probably heard that tirade several times before, Luke guessed.

“Then why do you do it?” he asked when the Wookiee lumbered off towards the cockpit. “Why do you put up with it?”

For a brief moment, Han looked ready to yell, but then he leaned against the bulkhead, letting a deep breath go. “Been askin’ myself the same question sometimes,” he admitted. His fingers drummed a sharp rhythm against the food synth’s controls. “This ain’t how I thought things’d turn out when I first got here. Sure, I’ve got a bunch of greedy accountants workin’ upstairs, but somebody’s gotta check up on them, keep everything together, you know. Maybe the guy who lost the mine to me just set me up to get rid of the whole shebang.”

“You mean you _won_ the entire installation?”

“Yeah.” A tentative grin twisted Han’s mouth. “Another sabacc game. Maybe I ain’t such an ace at administratin’, but I’m pretty good with the cards.” He picked up his cup and drained it. “I figured it’d be money, an easy life, nice ‘n safe. Guess ‘safe’ always means that there’s something missing.”

“Like flying,” Luke suggested before he thought about it.

“Yeah, that too.” Han’s grin returned with a touch of self-mockery. “I know, I know, I’m hard to please, Chewie ever mention that?”

“No,” Luke said with a soft laugh. “We didn’t talk much at all, but at least we got those modifications on the repulsors done.”

“The whole matrix?” Han whistled through his teeth. “I’m impressed. Looks like I owe you one. Hey — how would you like piloting this baby while we run a couple of tests?”

 

They were in the air only a few minutes later. Absorbed in the Stingray’s smooth responses, Luke set a random course straight out into space. The freighter’s speed passed into his nerves with quick thrums of vibration, and he found himself itching to try a few maneuvers.

“She’s all yours,” Han encouraged from the passenger seat behind him.

“That obvious, huh?” Luke muttered, smiling to himself.

“I know the signs, kid.” A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing briefly. “Go ahead, do your worst. I trust you.”

The freighter broke free of the topmost clouds and raced towards the infinite expanses of space. Luke guided the ship through a loop while assessing her maneuverability. Below, Bespin rotated silently, a bronze, cloud-marbled sphere. He took the Stingray through a sideslip and a steep upward climb, abruptly converted into a plummeting drop that made Chewbacca yowl and Han laugh. Cutting speed, Luke brought the ship’s nose back up.

He lost himself to the dizzying pace and the gravity shifts that echoed his impromptu aerobatics — spinning, diving through a starfield that seemed to shiver like the surface of a dark lake, ruffled by a breeze. He felt Han’s presence at his shoulder, the silence in the cockpit like a protective shield around them.

“You’re good,” Han finally said in a lowered voice. “You’re really good.”

A short laugh caught in Luke’s throat. For the moment, he wanted nothing except stay where he was, the longing so intense that it squeezed his chest like a vise, but in reality, the option didn’t exist. He’d made his choice. And he owed it to Ben and Biggs and his family not to let go, even if he felt torn right now.

When Han suggested to return planetside, Luke gave only a wordless nod, his mind plunged deep in thought. There was no way he could stay on Bespin, but...

There wasn’t much hope that Han would consider the alternative, Luke admitted to himself, but he had to try.

“Why don’t you come with me?” he asked, sailing the Stingray down through billowing clouds.

“And join the Rebellion?” Han threw himself back in the passenger seat with a snort.

“They need good pilots, and you’re better than any of them.”

“No,” Han said stonily.

“Just no? Won’t you at least give me your reasons?”

For the longest time, Luke thought that Han had decided to simply ignore him.

“’Cause I ain’t stupid,” Han finally growled. “We’re not gonna see the end of this war in our lifetimes, and I’ve spent too many years on the edge already. I wanna enjoy what I’ve got as long as it lasts. Nothing’s for keeps anyway.”

And nothing could take the sting out of those words, no matter how much Luke tried to talk himself into being rational. _Be rational, great_. A vast emptiness seemed to tail him, like something he’d dragged along from their brief escape into zero gravity. Chewbacca was very quiet, all attention devoted to the flight console and the landing cycle.

“Luke,” Han said, “understand one thing about me. I was’t born on Easy Street, and I’ve been places you couldn’t dream up in your worst nightmares. I don’t mess with anybody unless they try messing with me, and I happen to know that no one in the whole goddamn galaxy, except Chewie here, would give a shit if someone blew a hole through my head. Fine with me. That’s how people are. But don’t expect me to stick out my neck for someone else’s liberty.”

“I understand.”

At least Luke that thought he did, although acceptance was another matter. Still, something had crept into Han’s voice — something raw and intense — but Luke didn’t get a chance to figure it out.

All too fast now, the city’s towers rose up towards them, and he had to concentrate on threading Stingray into the correct approach lane. Repulsors came online with a silky purr, easing the freighter’s touchdown into the gentlest glide. There was barely a bump when the landing struts settled on firm ground.

“Good work,” Han said, checking a display in the bulkhead for the test results.

Luke got out of the flight chair and brushed past him, or at least tried to. When their eyes met, tension smoldered between them with a combative sting of challenge and the strangest, wordless agreement.

It was still too early to retire, Luke supposed, walking down the ramp and into a hazy sunset that painted the white domes and spires of the city in saffron shades. An hour or two until nightfall, but he couldn’t handle being in a public place, among people, right now.

Han stood beside him one moment, squinting out into the distance, then touched his hand. Without exchanging another word, they headed back for Han’s place. They had one more night together.

* * *

The mood was worlds away from what it had been the night before. They entered the bedroom and began taking each other’s clothes off slowly, still not talking, hands moving over every inch of exposed skin at an unhurried pace. Luke felt his heart pumping and leaned over to place his mouth against Han’s throat where pulse throbbed just as fast as his own.

When they stretched out on the mattress, side by side, the tension had grown so much that Luke’s throat closed up with it. Even if he’d known what to say, he couldn’t have brought out a single word. Instead, he let his eyes and hands wander across Han’s body. The fading daylight that slanted into the room threw every line into sharp relief. Highlighting the lean strength of Han’s frame, it painted a streak of liquid bronze across the side of his face. Luke’s mind and senses filled with touch and sight, every slight quiver of muscles under his hands, the texture of skin and body hair — every detail of it was absorbed deep into memory, so that he could take as much of Han with him as possible.

A strong, warm hand passed over his hip and began stroking his thigh, the pressure of a thumb drawing delicious fire up the inside. Luke’s own hand stilled on Han’s shoulder, and he closed his eyes, just tracing the paths those long fingers took until his skin seemed to burn all over, and his arousal grew almost unbearable.

He looked up, into Han’s low-lidded eyes, and cleared his throat with a self-conscious little laugh. “Look, my hand’s trembling...”

A muscle twitched in Han’s cheek, but he said nothing and pulled Luke abruptly close to kiss him deeply. Locking both arms around Han’s neck, Luke opened up to the seeking pressure of his tongue, which was all he could do for the moment. The tremors in his body were joined by a strange ache, like his heart had clenched up tight as a fist, and he wanted this to go on forever, drown in the sense of Han pressed close to him, his taste and scent.

He gasped when Han tore himself away with a muttered curse, but before Luke could start thinking of something to say, Han had straddled him, pinning him to the mattress. His mouth wandered all over Luke’s face, breathing kisses against his forehead, eyebrows, temples, cheeks before settling on his lips again briefly.

“I wanna make love to you, kid,” Han said in a husky voice, “in another way...”

He hesitated, and a shockwave of sudden realization rolled through Luke’s body. There had to be hundreds of things he’d never done or considered doing, but all the same, there was no need for Han to explain any further.

“I — can guess,” he finally managed. He recalled the feel of Han’s body pressing him hard into the mattress, though it was more a flash of sensation than actual thought. Challenge, intimacy, a total awareness of his own body — all of that, and something he could not name. Except that it created a hollowness within him, a need beyond the quick starts of desire.

He cradled Han’s face in his hands and said, “Yeah, I want that.”

For a few seconds, Han looked like he’d question that decision. Sharp consideration broke through his clouded gaze, but then he shrugged. “Call it off if you change your mind, okay? Now turn over...” When Luke was slow to comply, he added, “Just tryin’ to make this as pleasant as possible.”

Puzzled, Luke heard him rummage through the locker. He hadn’t given any thought to — well — technicalities, and when cool fingers wandered up between his legs, he flinched fractionally.

“Easy,” Han murmured, dropping a kiss on his shoulder.

Luke felt a slickened finger enter him without effort and closed his eyes. Within minutes, what had started out as a necessary precaution began to feel surprisingly good, and his body responded to the coaxing intrusion of Han’s fingers. He moved towards that touch instinctively and felt a little push as his hips pressed off the bed.

“Ready for more?” Han’s mouth brushed his ear and wandered down the lobe, nibbling gently.

“Uh-huh.” At least he hoped that he was, but sensation was fogging up the final layer of rational thought. “I just—” Luke turned over onto his back and met Han’s eyes. “I want to look at you.”

“Okay.” Han’s glance dropped, for a moment, almost awkwardly. “Now, come here...”

More than anything else, Luke was aware of the quick breaths lifting his chest, and the heartbeat that drummed in his ears when Han positioned himself between his splayed legs, lifting them. He wanted to brace himself, but Han seemed to anticipate that impulse. He paused, stroking both hands up Luke’s sides.

“Don’t think about it, just... let go, okay?”

Breathless, Luke barely managed a nod, and it seemed impossible anyway, he was so strung with anticipation that every single nerve ending seemed to vibrate. Han was guiding himself, one hand slipped beneath Luke’s back to hold him steady. Luke swallowed as the tip of Han’s rigid cock nudged him, began pressing into him — and through a brief flash of panic, wherever it came from, he felt something give. Pressure exploded into a momentary stab of pain, and his body reacted in reflex, his hips twisted, but Han caught him in a firm grip. The pressure built, the sensation of being stretched and opened forcing his breath out with small, strangled noises he couldn’t stop, his brain too sluggish to make sense of all that assailed him until a final push made him arch up sharply.

“Don’t move!” Han was gritting his teeth. “Don’t—”

As Luke forced himself to lie still, diffuse sensations came into sharp focus. He felt Han tremble and try to suppress it, the full length of his cock filling him, and after a while, his muscles no longer took offense. Discomfort subsided into a strange, hot pressure.

“Sorry,” Han muttered, a nervous smile pulling at his mouth, “just... didn’t wanna end this before we’d really started. Okay now?”

“Yeah...” Breathing a little easier, Luke relaxed back against the mattress and detached one hand from the sheet to run it across Han’s chest.

Han braced himself, supporting most of his weight on his elbows. When he leaned over to brush a kiss against Luke’s mouth, the motion took him deeper, and Luke gasped in surprise as much as shocked pleasure.

“No, don’t stop,” he whispered, “this is — oh—”

“Yeah,” Han muttered in a ragged voice, “I know what you mean...”

He kept his movements gentle at first, easing the tension from untried muscles with slow, teasing strokes. Fully concentrated on the unfolding pleasure within, Luke ran his hands down the long back and began to move with Han’s rhythm until his breath started coming in gasps.

Unrelieved tension was mirrored on Han’s face when their eyes locked again. Luke traced the tight mouth with his fingertips until a half-smile formed. Han’s lips parted and the tip of his tongue flicked playfully against the searching fingers. “You know what you’re doin’ to me here?” he asked huskily. “I don’t think you’ve got any idea—”

Before Luke could answer, a supple writhe of Han’s hips made a sudden connection, and a fierce sting of pleasure lanced through his groin. He could feel Han push inward and his own body tighten around the hard cock when the tantalizing pressure struck off the next flare of sensation, then another. The intensity of it threw his head back against the sheet, receding and returning with each shove of Han’s lean hips against him, and he wanted it, longed for it with a physical craving much like hunger, only it possessed his entire body.

Back arched, Luke dug his fingers into Han’s sides and groaned deeply when Han began to thrust urgently, the driving beat emerging from both of them as if they were tapping into the same power source. The togetherness was overwhelming, and there seemed to be no room left for thought as pleasure invaded every molecule of body and mind. Han pushed deep again, with a twist of the hips that made Luke claw at the sheet.

He was sheer desire and motion, full of Han, losing himself in the whirling heat of the moment. The sensation was that of flying at high speeds, liberating and almost frightfully heady, redoubled and refined because it was shared. Distantly, Luke became aware that Han had reached down to stroke his erection, but the pressure of his hand only seemed to reflect the hot, raw urge within. Luke pushed back with breathless sounds of encouragement that no longer formed any words. A moment later, his entire body seemed to contract so hard it forced a strangled whimper from his throat.

All his senses followed an upward pull, soaring, unfolding, scattering into a thousand directions. He was weightless and grounded, losing himself and held close. And definitely shaking when the waves of jarring pleasure ebbed at last.

Impaling himself with more force, Han kept up his rhythm, his gasps and groans blown against Luke’s face until he reared back with a rasped curse.

Deep inside, Luke felt the pressure increase with quick pulsations, then the spurts that filled him as Han slumped forward. They rolled sideways, hopelessly entangled, and finally managed to wrap their arms around each other.

“Good?” Han muttered after a long time, his face still buried at the curve of Luke’s neck.

“No. Perfect,” Luke whispered back, surprised that he still had a voice left. Emotion surged up in him, and he tensed involuntarily as he fought it back down.

“Luke...” Han’s breath drifted over his sweat-damp skin. “I — uh, thanks. You know, for all of it.”

“Shut up,” he whispered tightly, “just shut up.”

When Han gathered him in a closer embrace, Luke screwed his eyes shut, determined not to let that hot sting spill over into grief. Tomorrow would come anyway. Right now, he didn’t want to think about it.

* * *

The brightness of dawn slammed into him with the force of a gut punch when he opened his eyes. Han was awake beside him.

“Time, huh?” he asked shortly.

“I guess.” Ignoring the desperately hollow feeling in his stomach, Luke sat up, scanning the room for his discarded clothes. Everything felt abruptly, totally unreal.

Han moved quietly out of his way when he reached for his briefs and undershirt. The next few minutes would be the hardest, but Wedge and the other pilots were waiting, and he could get by on his sense of duty, if nothing else. Luke fumbled with the flightsuit a few moments before he managed to disentangle the zipper. It slid upwards with a loud, scraping sound that almost made him wince. He fastened the security clips one by one, aware all the time of Han watching him with that dark, unreadable gaze. Breathing deeply, Luke glanced around for his bag.

“Hey, wait a moment...” Han grabbed up his pants and slid into them, then climbed to his feet.

Luke turned sharply. “You don’t have to see me off.”

“I know.” Han crossed his arms before his bare chest, pale in the cold light of dawn. “If that means you don’t want me around, why don’t you just say so?”

“Damn right,” Luke snapped. “I don’t want you around.” Anger blazed through him, and for a moment all he wanted was to lash out. A blind second later, he’d wrapped both arms around Han and couldn’t tell what kind of impulse had taken over and how. It didn’t matter anyway. There wasn’t a second to lose.

“Luke, I can’t,” Han said, holding him tightly, anger in his voice. “I can’t come with you.”

Luke shook his head and instead of struggling for words cradled Han’s face, drawing him down. They kissed, mouths moving against each other with desperate, hungry passion, until want of air forced a break. Luke leaned his forehead against Han’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It will be...”

“Stay safe, kid,” Han murmured, running gentle fingers through his hair, and the tenderness in his touch was more than Luke could take.

Backing out of Han’s embrace, he pushed his shoulders back. “You, too.” His mouth strained for a smile, not quite achieving it. “If you—” Luke broke off before pointless hope could get the better of him.

“I know,” Han said with a lopsided smile that looked just as twisted. “And you know your way here. Don’t forget.”

Forgetting wasn’t even a remote possibility. Scooping up his bag, Luke gave a short nod. “Tell Chewie I didn’t have time to say goodbye.”

And then he was heading out, crossed the living-room like a mindless droid, reached the door. A chill morning enfolded him, without a single cloud in the pale sky.

 _Great weather for flying_ , Luke told himself.

Artoo had already completed the pre-flight routines by the time he arrived, and all the other fighters were waiting on standby. Through the darkened canopy, he saw Wedge give a short wave.

Luke climbed the access ladder slowly and stood in his X-wing’s cockpit, hesitant for another moment. Soft shades of rose and amber tinted the edge of the sky, but as his gaze unfocused, the gentle sunrise suddenly seemed to blaze and speed forward into a violent sunset.

With blinding intensity, the dying light cut through the clouds, and all the shadows deepened. A strange dizziness seized him. Instinctively, Luke reached out for a hold, but his hand groped through emptiness. Nothing was left except the burning clouds that reeled around him and the gale tearing at his clothes, and for a moment he was falling — falling into the turbulent sky with a terrible pain spreading up his right arm. He clutched at his wrist in reflex.

And there was Han’s face right before him, but — no longer alive, carved in a grimace, out of charcoal-tinted stone. Like a death mask. Luke’s stomach clenched around cold nausea.

A moment later, the sick feeling and the dizziness passed. Shaken, Luke dropped into his flight seat and thumbed the controls to lower the fighter’s canopy. How could he let himself be affected so badly that it actually had him hallucinating? Though that wasn’t at all what it had felt like. His fingers were still trembling, and all his senses tingled. Luke shook his head at himself. Maybe it had been something of a belated aftershock from his accident a few days ago, causing that strange lapse. Pushing every thought of it aside, he concentrated on the take-off.

The other pilots signaled their readiness, and the sound of their voices filtering over the intercom helped to restore Luke’s sense of normality. Sort of.

His fighter lifted at a steady pace, and he clutched at the control stick, too aware that he wanted to cut speed at once and nose the X-wing back down. If it hadn’t been for the rest of his group, perhaps that was exactly what he would have done. _Brace up_ , Luke commanded himself angrily. But when they sailed past the upper levels of the city, his gaze was riveted on the white towers and sweeping walkways, not the sky.

On one of the terraces, arms braced against the railing, stood a solitary man and watched their departure. Luke’s heart stopped for a split second, then kicked his ribs savagely. During that one moment, the sight of Han’s tall frame etched itself into his mind. Almost too late, Luke reached for the controls and flashed the X-wing’s runlights. Across the distance, it was impossible to discern Han’s expression, but as his fighter curved away from the terrace, Luke couldn’t help wondering if Han felt just a fraction of the clenching pain that took his breath.

 _You set yourself up for it. Now live with it_.

He just hoped that the base commander on Hoth would keep him busy enough to blot out all the memories.

* * *

EPILOGUE

When Lando Calrissian set the Millennium Falcon down in the hangar of the Rebel base, a month later, he wasn’t exactly in a cheerful homecoming mood. He’d just had a narrow escape from Imperial patrols, the freighter’s compartments all stacked with illegal cargo, and the Falcon seemed to develop additional cranks with every new run. The Rebels still owed him pay, but considering the freighter’s state of disrepair, Lando knew he’d have to request spare parts instead of credits. With a deep sigh, he started down the lowered ramp.

It was late, the hangar almost deserted. Cold air slammed into him, and his breath rose in a fuzzy white cloud. Cursing softly, Lando drew his cape around himself and discovered a new rip in the faded blue fabric. His pace brisk with the biting cold and plain disgust, he crossed the hangar in search for the chief technician.

He’d considered himself so damn lucky the day he’d won the Falcon, but all his hopes for profitable business had been dashed one after the next. And now he was turning into a sleazy lowlife with more than one price on his head who couldn’t even afford decent clothing. He wasn’t looking forward to obtaining those spare parts either. It meant spending the best part of another week in some cramped, greasy crawlway, pretending he could live up to the part of a flight mechanic. Lando stamped his feet, tried in vain to rub warmth into his upper arms. Damn, how did the Rebels stand this climate? He very much doubted that pure idealism kept them warm at nights.

Returning from the chief technician’s so-called office, in reality a freezing cubicle hacked out of the ice, Lando was about ready to sprint for the Falcon and power up the heating. But as he walked up from the far side of the hangar, he was stopped short by a decidedly odd sight. A single Rebel pilot in his red flightsuit was walking around the ramshackle freighter, studying the patched hull like the greatest curiosity in the universe. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings. As Lando walked closer, he saw the pilot reach out and run his hand across the underside of the bow mandible, softly and thoughtfully. When he stepped back into the beam of the Falcon’s runlights, Lando instantly recognized the slender frame and the pale golden hair, lighting up in the warm shine.

Puzzled, Lando broke his stride. Luke was a dedicated pilot with a fascination for every kind of vehicle, but he’d never taken such a close interest in the Falcon before. However, Luke had also become a pretty skilled mechanic, and Lando’s mood lifted somewhat at the thought. Perhaps he could talk the younger man into helping him with the dreaded repairs. Yet before he could call out, Luke turned and determinedly walked up the Falcon’s ramp. What in all the heavens was he up to? Lando followed him softly, piqued by curiosity.

He tiptoed through the corridor and stood in the cockpit’s entrance unnoticed. Luke had settled down in the flight chair, apparently doing nothing except gazing out through the viewport. Lando waited for a few moments longer, then cleared his throat and walked over to the co-pilot’s station.

“Oh, hi,” Luke said belatedly, half-swiveling the chair. A mild flush colored his face, and the strangest look was in his eyes. For a second, Lando wondered if he’d had a few drinks too many.

“Hi yourself,” he returned easily, dropping into the co-pilot’s chair. “Did you want to see me?” The distant, hazy look in Luke’s eyes had nothing to do with drink, he decided.

Luke gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “I, uh, no — not exactly. I just saw the Falcon come in, and the ramp was down...”

Lando shrugged. Everything seemed to make even less sense now. Luke had traveled on the Falcon several times, starting with that unhappy trip to Alderaan, and of course he was welcome aboard anytime. “Sure,” he said. “Did they put you on a late shift or something?”

“Actually, no. I’m supposed to go out with dawn and start distributing the markers.” Luke’s glance drifted back to the viewport. “I just haven’t slept very well lately.”

Sleepless, too. Combined with the dreamy expression he’d caught on Luke’s face when he’d come in, it finally gave Lando some clues, but before he could add them up, Luke asked, “Would you — have you ever considered selling the Falcon?”

“No.” Lando laughed shortly, amazed. “But I’d trade her for a nice, sleek yacht anytime...”

“Mmmh.” With that most inconclusive reply, Luke turned the chair back towards the viewport, and the withdrawn expression returned.

To Lando’s mind, it had every bit the look of a really bad crush. Though Luke surely hadn’t fallen in love with the Falcon. “Something wrong? You look... a little moonstruck,” he ventured. _More than a little_ , Lando added mentally, sliding Luke another glance.

Luke’s expression changed, but the smile forming on his mouth carried an uncharacteristic edge of bitterness. “I guess I do at that,” he answered without meeting Lando’s eyes.

 _Leia?_ Lando wondered. Faint jealousy accompanied the thought. Not that he had much hope of ever gaining Her Highness’s attention, but he could still die trying.

“Any news about the Princess?” he probed, hoping to draw a reaction that would give him a definite clue. “I heard she’s coming here.”

“What? Oh, yeah. In a few days, I think.” Luke still sounded just as distracted as before. It couldn’t be Leia then.

Lando gave up at that point and began to watch out the viewport in turn, although the bleak sight of an empty hangar and frost-rimmed portals only served to make him shiver. When he glanced back at Luke, those wide blue eyes were unfocused and seemed to look into a great distance before he became aware of Lando’s attention.

“Hey,” Lando said softly, briefly touching the younger man’s elbow, “where’ve you been just now?”

“Far away,” Luke admitted and exhaled a long, quiet breath, but then the smile returned, at once bright and sad. “Another time, another place. A city in the clouds.”

* * * * *


End file.
